


The bittersweet between my teeth

by aquamarine_gold (honey_mcdonalds)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Keith is a model, Lance is in a band, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, model and band AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-13 16:41:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9132631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_mcdonalds/pseuds/aquamarine_gold
Summary: "There was something in Keith that had caught Lance’s attention. Thinking back on it, Lance still wouldn’t be able to clearly tell what did catch it. But if he could make a guess, he would say that it was probably the model’s intense gaze."Model and Band AU where Lance, Shiro, Pidge and Hunk are part of a famous indie band called Arctic Sunrise, while Keith is a world-famous model. Lance wants Keith to star in their new music video. But turns out that Keith is not really the way Lance thought him to be.Based onxShieru's (tumblr useryaboybokuto) AU





	1. I will be chasing a starlight

**Author's Note:**

> hey! i want to say as a disclaimer that this is my first fic EVER, because i've only ever written original works before (and mostly in my mother tongue). but i loved [xShieru](http://archiveofourown.org/users/xShieru/)'s au way too much to not write something based on it  
> you can check it out here: [x](http://yaboybokuto.tumblr.com/post/151886131223/an-au-where-voltron-is-a-famous-rock-band-keith)
> 
> thanks to my beta, [Sasaina_Ai](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sasaina_Ai/) for proofreading it
> 
> (this chapter's title is from Starlight by Muse)
> 
> Enjoy! :)

“ _After the release of their second studio album “Poison Heart”, American rock-indie band Arctic Sunrise (composed of Lance Diaz, Charlotte “Shay” Balmera, Pidge Holt, Hunk Kamealoha and Takashi “Shiro” Shirogane) is in Los Angeles, California for the debut of their international tour._

_“Arctic Sunrise has fully arrived to the indie pop-rock and electronic scene with both their debut EP, simply named “Arctic Sunrise”, and their new album “Poison Heart”. The title track “Poison Heart” ended up reaching number six in the charts in less than a month, and the album itself reached number eight. Their second album’s tunes are sometimes sensual, sometimes just fun, but overall, they make the listener feel nostalgic. Even at the first hearing, the soulfulness of both the lyrics and the voices of the main singers Lance Diaz and Shay Balmera enthrall the listener to a new world. Overall, “Poison Heart” is a pop-rock gem that is fun to listen, dance,_   _and sing along to._

_“It goes without saying that thanks to the dedication of their oldest fans,_   _and their success all around the world, Arctic Sunrise was quickly made into one of the biggest bands of this year.”_

_– Paulina Marques for The Reporter, April issue_

* * *

 

 

“So, does anyone have an idea for a new song?” Hunk asked.

The Arctic Sunrise members were all lounging in the warm living room of their manager, Allura. Over the years, the room and its walls covered with floral tapestries had become their headquarters: firstly during the afternoons of chatting and playing video games, then awhile later  _music_ , then the official beginning of their music career.

“How about this?” Lance chimed in. “A song about heartbreak:  _You’re probably right to think I lied,_   _memories are fading on my side, and I—”_  The brunet sang as he strummed his guitar.

“It’s a little bit depressing, don’t you think?” Hunk asked, cutting him off.

“Yeah, and weren’t our last songs about break-ups and bad love stories?” said Pidge, arching their eyebrow at the guitarist. “Also, it sounds kind of bad.”

“I’d rather ignore your last comment,” Lance replied, waving his strumming hand dismissively. “And anyways, we sold a lot of our latest album ~~s~~  with these themes. Nine million and a half, to be exact.” Pidge hummed noncommittally at him.

“To be fair, it was mostly thanks to Shay’s lyrics, not to mention Hunk’s and Pidge’s instrumentals,” Shiro said with an amused smile.

“Oh, come on!” Lance whined, sitting up straight as he grabbed the tabloid from where he’d abandoned it to his right. “Didn’t you  _read_  that article from  _The Reporter_?! The journalist said, and I quote: ‘the soulful voice of the main singer Lance Diaz enthralls the listener to a new world’. It’s written there!” Lance waved the glossy tabloid in his hand, brandishing the article apparently irrefutable proof of his overwhelming talent.

“I am quite sure that you butchered the original quotation, Lance,” Allura cut in when she came back with tea, soda, and snacks from her kitchen. As soon as she put the tray on the mahogany coffee table, the group members pounced on the homemade muffins and cookies like teenagers, all professionalism tossed to the side. Allura shook her head, her wavy, light hair flowing like water with every movement. “Am I your manager or your mom?”

“Both!” Hunk and Pidge replied in tandem.

Allura rolled her eyes and gave a cup of tea and a cookie to Shay, who sat further away from the group in a cozy armchair, before sitting next to her.

“So, have  _you_  got any ideas?” Allura asked her. “After all, you’re the songwriter here.” Allura always tried to appear engaging and as nice as possible to the young girl, as Shay seemed to be comfortable in only two settings: alone with Hunk, or on stage, performing. The dark-skinned girl blinked a few times in thought, her amber-coloured eyes starting to shimmer with interest.

“Well, I have thought…” She tapped her index finger on her tea cup, “I have thought of songs for the Deluxe Poison Heart edition?”

“Good! Good. So?”

“It would be good, in my opinion, to— well… change the mood?” She said excitedly, her hands coming to life as she spoke.  “You see, to write about brighter and warmer things. The last album was all about breaking up and falling in love with the wrong person. So maybe it would be a good change?”

Allura clapped her hands “It’s actually a wonderful idea Shay!” She turned to the group of musicians still stuffing their faces. “What do you guys think?”

The boys paused in their stuffing their faces to look expectantly at each other. From the look of it, the idea wasn’t winning unanimous support.

Lance wrinkled his nose as Shiro swallowed the rest of his muffin to speak, “I… actually think it’s a good idea.”

“What?” Lance exclaimed. “But aren’t we supposed to, you know, write about things we know about?” His protests were in vain, since even he knew that once Shiro agreed with an idea, it was matter-of-factly decided. But Lance had a habit of being difficult, whether he disagreed with the person he was speaking to or not, pushed by the desire to be contradictory. But in this case, he merely wanted to stand his ground. “Has anyone here ever had good relationship experience? Does anyone have a good ex?”

“Do you even  _have_  one?” Pidge snickered, making Allura and Shiro grin.

Lance sputtered to reply, “I—Of course I do!”

Hunk put his hand on Lance’s shoulder and looked at him with a solemn smile, “It’s okay, buddy. We’re in a non-judgmental zone here.”

Lance pawed his friend’s hand off his shoulder, huffing, “I  _do_  have exes! Tons of them!”

“Sure, Jan,” Pidge said flatly as they rolled their eyes, before turning to their lyricist. “Anyways, I think your idea is great, Shay. It would be a good change.”

At these words, Shay’s face lit up, a light hue of red spreading across her cheeks and her round ears. She took her notebook from her purse and started writing down her immediate thoughts.

“More cheerful songs, huh?” Lance mused.

The thing was, Lance actually  _did_  have exes, just very few. Even then, the stories involving each of them were disastrous, and frankly quite embarrassing. So in reality, there wasn’t really much to boast about Lance’s love life, apart from his lack of chance and terrible taste in partners. Asking him to think of a cheerful song about love? Yeah, right. It wasn’t going to happen.

Lance shrugged to himself; it was Shay’s job to do that. The group — mostly Lance and Shay herself — would usually think of ideas and concepts, and she would turn them into lyrics. Ah, the magic of songwriting, the sound of words vibrating in duet with the melody of the instruments. While everyone contributed on the songwriting of their EP, “Poison Heart”, it was mostly written by Lance with the help of Shay. The lyrics had been fueled by his negative emotions, largely anger and bitterness that had bloomed during his relationships at the time, like poisonous, thorny flowers. At that time, he’d been jumping from one relationship to another, and was together with a girl named Veronica, though their relationship had been falling apart. They seemingly weren’t able to see each other without arguing, which would start out with mild language and turn into straight-up verbal brawling.

Anyways, it seemed that if the deluxe version — and maybe even their next album — was about cute love stories and happy endings, Lance wouldn’t be of be any help.

With that thought, Lance tuned out the vivid and eager conversation that was going on around him and turned the TV on.

“—photo shoots for the new  _Anelsa Raving_ ’s cosmetic campaign are launching this month. Next week, there will be an opening ceremony for the line. All of Los Angeles' finest models will be attending the runway, such as—"

The name of the stylist rang a bell to Lance. His attention piqued, scanning the crowd of models walking down the runway shown in the archive footage, trying to pick out one in particular—

Oh  _God_. There he was, in a group photo probably taken at the end of a show, standing out from amongst the other models. There, with his hair pulled into a bun, make-up sharpening his already Adonis-like features, and all dressed-up in the latest fashion, stood Keith Ryu.

Like always, Lance was  _enthralled_. Keith's apparition only lasted a few seconds on the screen, but even then, it had made Lance's day.

It had all started way before Lance even took up music. Well, way before he’d started performing  _professionally_. He was still in high school then, and he had a part-time job at a flower-slash-coffee shop. It was the unusual concept that had attracted him at that time, and he also always had an interest in flowers. It began in 4 th grade, when one of his classmates wondered whether secret messages could be conveyed with flowers. Lance had done lots of research, and found out that it was actually possible. His eagerness on the subject had spread to his classmates and soon enough, the entire grade was learning the means of passing a few choice words to those who were concerned in a functional way, their true meaning hidden behind a veil of seemingly-vain beauty.

It was with that peculiar art that Lance had asked his first girlfriend out, a chickweed and sixteen white poplar leaves first, and then the stems of a white carnation and a pink tulip weaved into a crown, cheeks flushed and a bashful look mirroring on both of their faces. Lance would obviously never admit it, but it was the most successful and smoothest love confession he had ever made.

Ever since then, he had a knack for making beautiful and meaningful posies, a hobby that still showed whenever he felt bored or was stressed out.

It was during a slow day at the café spent threading stems and drinking over-infused tea, that Lance first met Keith Ryu. Well, not  _exactly_  him, per se. The brunet was idly turning the page of a fashion magazine forgotten by a customer that had left in a hurry, filled with beautifully dull specimens, musing about how they were only coat-hangers to showcase the latest fashion made of the richest fabrics when his gaze fell upon him.

There was  _something_  in Keith that had caught Lance’s attention. Thinking back on it, Lance still wouldn’t be able to clearly tell what  _did_  catch it. But if he could make a guess, he would say that it was probably the model’s intense gaze. The dark, warm grey of his iris, the almond shape of his eyes, or maybe it was the stark contrast of his jet-black hair against his ivory skin, the crimson of the cloak that he was wearing, which brought out the pink-red of his lips. On the bottom right corner of the page, in golden letters was written: Anelsa Ravings, fall-winter collection. Lance had stared at the page for a while, before turning that page too, and then forgot about it.

He had thought back to the model’s name a few days later while browsing the internet. “Keith Ryu”. He read some of his interviews. It had appeared that he was not just any model, but the very icon of Anelsa Raving’s creations. He was his age, and apparently a dropout. Lance had scowled at that. Even as a dropout, it had seemed that Keith was and would be more famous and successful than Lance would ever be. And in that regard, it would’ve been true to say that this Keith Ryu boy was truly the person who had launched Lance’s career, the one who had pushed him to reach for his dream.

So, at this very moment, as Lance watched the flashing images passing on the TV screen, something clicked in his mind, and the decision that he made seemed to go without saying.

"Guys, we're going to do a MV for the new song? As a promo I mean." Lance asked, a smile forming on his lips.

"Yes?" Allura answered.

"Well, I'd like to star in it. It’s only fair as it'd be my only contribution to it. And I also want to choose who will co-star with me.”

Pidge finished their mouthful of chocolate chip cookie, staring at Lance with their usual deadpan expression. “And who would that be?”

“I’m not gonna tell. You’ll jinx it with your evil eye,” Lance answered with a smirk as he threw them a crumpled, muffin, paper wrapping. He missed his target, which made Pidge wiggle their eyebrows in mockery.

“Well, before anything, we should start writing the song,” Shiro said, glancing kindly at Shay. “But there’s no need to rush it. We have a world tour to prepare for.”

 

* * *

 

Shiro had made it sound so  _grand_. “World tour”. The truth was, it was a huge bother.

Lance was bored. And annoyed too.

It sounded petulant and childish of him, and deep down, he felt guilty about it. He truly wanted to meet their fans from all over the world, but he hadn’t thought about how exhausting it would be to organize such an enormous event. Provided, it wasn’t the Arctic Sunrises themselves that mainly organized it, but Allura and their producers. Still.

They’d been working on it for an excruciating month now, and they weren’t even close to finished. Between the calls, booking of concert stages, and rehearsals, Lance just wanted a break.

“A break?” Shiro said incredulously. He was absent-mindedly scrubbing his rosewood bass guitar with a soft piece of fabric.

“A constructive one?” Lance asked again, eyes pleading.

“A constructive break,” Allura revised, her expression carefully blank. It made Lance want to roll his eyes. Both Allura and Shiro valued hard work and earnestness, but at that moment, Lance regretted that they were in charge, even if they were incredibly efficient in their role.

Shiro looked up at Allura, who was sitting on the arm of the sofa where the young man himself was. Allura stared at Lance, her inner reflection causing her to purse her lips and narrowing her eyes. Lance fidgeted and bit the inside of his cheeks, trying to suppress the urge to roll his eyes. He felt as if he were sixteen again, asking his parents to extend his curfew for a couple hours more.

“Yes, Allura,  _a constructive break_ ,” Lance sighed. “Look, everyone is tired, okay? I mean, I don’t know what kind of energizer you guys are on, or if you’re actually  _Terminators_ —but yeah. We need a break.” He paused and then added with a sly smile and a wink to Shiro, because he couldn’t help it: “Don’t worry, it’s not you, it’s me.”

Allura narrowed her eyes even more, but Shiro grinned, “I see. I’m sorry it had to end that way.” He replied. A little more seriously then, turning to the manager: “Maybe he’s right Allura. Everyone’s been working hard.” Allura hummed in agreement, even though she seemed reluctant. Shiro dropped the cloth in the space between the sofa’s cushion and arm, putting his hand on her thigh. “You need some vacation time too.”

At that, Allura made a noise very akin to a snort, though she would never admit it, “You’re one to talk, Shiro. But I guess you’re right.” She sighed and turned back her gaze to Lance, a small smile playing on her lips. “A break it is, then.”

“Yes!” Lance exclaimed, pumping his fist in the air.

“A  _constructive_  one, although.” Finger raised in objection from Allura, groan from Lance. She grinned, rubbing her chin as if she were in deep thought. After a while, she clapped her hands.

“Well. We were talking about the song with Shay. She had an idea of a nature aesthetic. Maybe we could rent a place in the countryside. Think about the project, get some rest.” She paused to look at Shiro. “What do you think, dear?”

Shiro smiled. “I think it’s a good idea too. And I know just the perfect place.”

“Thank you, my lieges,” Lance said with a mock reverence.

Allura rolled her eyes and shooed him away with a faint gesture. “Go, Lance. Finish what you have started today. We’re not on break yet.”

Lance was already leaning out of the entrance of the room when Shiro called after him. He stopped in his tracks. “Have you decided who would co-star you in the MV?” A large smile split Lance’s mouth.

“Keith Ryu.”

“Keith Ryu?” repeated Allura, trying to remember where she had heard that name. Next to her, Shiro stopped his scrubbing, staring at Lance’s face. Then, Allura remembered. “Oh! The top model? Anelsa Raving’s icon? Lance!” She sighed for a second time, “How are we even going to take a hold on him? And more importantly,  _pay_  him? We might be well known, but we’re still an indie rock band! Can’t you be more realistic?”

Lance turned to Shiro, giving him his best puppy-eyed look, “Please?”

“I’ll… see what I can do?” Shiro responded, offering an unsure shrug. Allura scoffed at him.

“Wait, really?” Lance exclaimed again, his face lighting up. Allura raised her eyes to the ceiling and crossed her arms, clearly thinking about how overdramatic a kid Lance could be.

“Don’t get your hopes up, Lance,” she simply said.

“It’s gonna be hard,” he answered with a small grin. He could already see himself playing with him, with Keith Ryu. Lance was sure that it would be a good experience. He had already played in some of their music videos, but the extras were almost always from their family and friends. It would be something fresh - acting with a stranger. And wouldn’t they be filming in nature? In a field at twilight, or maybe in a misty forest. Yeah, he could picture it. They would be walking down the forest, side by side, wouldn’t it be romantic?

Lance stopped his thoughts before they went too far. Of course it would be romantic. It was a music video for a  _love_  song.

Lance realized that not only had he been silent for a moment, but his face must have betrayed his stream of thought, if the puzzled looks Allura and Shiro were giving him were anything to go by. He quickly recollected himself, and with a flashy smile and finger guns, exited the room.

“Shiro…” Allura started when Lance retreated from the room.

Shiro had resumed his cleaning of his bass.  _His_   _“petting,”_  Allura thought, because of how carefully – and dare she thought –  _lovingly_  he handled it. Her. He had named her Felicia. Felicia! He seemed in deep thought, and Allura sighed for a record third time. She got up and sat down on the other side of Shiro, on the part where one was actually supposed to sit. She put her hand on Shiro’s shoulder.

“I know that you always want to please these kids, but… Keith Ryu?” She paused, looking at him with searching eyes. Shiro had stopped polishing Felicia once again, and was staring into the distance. “Shiro, that kid is an internationally well-known celebrity. I mean, even those who do not care for fashion have probably heard his name! And he is renowned for being incredibly difficult to get a hold of, if I remember well. Oh, and did I mention  _incredibly pricey_?” The last part has been pronounced in a high-pitched tone, the urgency in Allura’s voiced summoned by Shiro’s lack of reaction to any of her words.

Finally, he settled Felicia back on her support next to the couch and rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hands, “Allura, it’s not just… I want to see him too.”

“What?!” Allura gasped. “Wait you’re a fan too?”

“No! Yes?” Shiro said, cringing. “It’s more complicated than this.”

There was a little silence. Then: “Were you one his stalker or something?” Shiro snapped his head toward Allura and gaped at her. She burst out laughing. “Oh gosh, Shiro! Your face—it’s—”

“Yeah, yeah, alright…” Shiro grumbled, but a small smile played on his lips. He waited until Allura settled down. When her bursts of laughter turned into small chuckles, she delicately wiped the unshed tears at the corner of her eyes. She gave him a smile and, closing her eyes, took a deep breath that ended her laughing fit.

“Still,” she continued, “what is so complicated about this? And I mean without tackling the amount of obstacles there would be just to talk to him, let alone breath the same air,” she nudged at Shiro’s side with her elbow.

“We have… history?”

Allura gasped again. “It was your boyfriend?!”

Shiro wrinkled his nose and looked at her as if she had grown a second a second head. “No!” he said, a touch of desperation and shock in his voice. Allura pinched the bridge of her nose and exhaled.

“Well,  _Shiro_ ,” she drawled, “if you would be so kind as to quit being cryptic and beating about the bush and actually  _explain_ , that would be more enjoyable.”

Shiro passed a nervous hand through his hair, “Sorry, I just… I’m not sure I can tell you.”

Allura frowned slightly, lips parted. She felt hurt. She had thought that Shiro trusted her, but… Well, it wasn’t her place to be hurt. If Shiro didn’t want to tell her. He had his reasons.

“I understand.”

At that, Shiro smiled at her, eyes filled with gratitude. “Thank you. Don’t worry, it won’t affect the group.”


	2. And it’s just my soul responding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter! hope you like it ;)  
> I actually went back to school this week, so i don't know if the updates will keep a regular pace :/
> 
> still beta'd by [Sasaina_Ai](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sasaina_Ai/). thank you again! :D
> 
> (this chapter's title is from Just My Soul Responding by Amber Run)

Hair hidden under his knitted beanie, eyes behind cheap sunglasses, Keith was waiting in a dark corner of an almost empty hipster café. He loved that place. Here everyone was minding their own business, too engrossed in their typing on their laptops and partaking in their broody conversations to pay attention to the other customers. Even Jacob, the café owner, and his three waiters, Finn, Paul and Maria, never recognized Keith. And if they had, never showed it. Finn walk to his table chewing bubblegum lazily, Keith’s frappuccino on a tray. He put it on the table with little grace.

“Here’s your strawberry frappuccino,” he said with a little sneer. Keith smirked. He knew how much Finn loathed his taste in drinks, and that was why Keith always asked Finn to serve him.

“Thank you, Finn.”

“Choke on it, weirdo.” Finn muttered with a snarky smile.

Keith lifted his glass to Finn’s already retreating back. He took a sip through his straw, deep in thought.

His manager had received a call from a certain Miss Allura d’Altea, who had asked to meet him to discuss a job contract with the music band that she managed. Keith’s manager had, of course, already met her beforehand, to make sure that she wasn’t some crazy groupie, or something of that kind. It turned out that she really was a manager. And what’s more, the manager of _Artic Sunrise_ ; Keith loved that band. He had stumbled upon one of their songs one day when he was horsing around on YouTube, and immediately fell in love with their music style. A week later, their EP and first album had been added to his CD shelf.

He listened to their songs whenever he felt sad: it never failed to pump him up. He didn’t know a lot about them, though. Their music made his blood swirl in his veins, his mind soar; they made him feel alive when he knew he wasn’t really. The rest wasn’t important.

All he knew about them was that their lead singer was Lance Diaz. Everyone that listened to the Arctic Sunrise knew that Lance was the icon, the face of the band.

Keith had wanted to meet Allura again to decide on the exact terms of the contract, but he wanted it to happen in a place where he felt safe enough, and without his own manager, who would probably try to counter whatever decision he’d want to take.

His manager already refused to let him have a new tattoo, because it would be "too negative for his image" and because “an alien tattoo would be a _little_ too much”. Come on! He already had three tattoos. And photographers as well as his fans loved them anyways. Really, what a kill-joy. And how could find an alien tattoo _too much_? Whatever.

So Keith was looking at the door, waiting for a blue-haired Creole lady to come when the complete opposite walked in. Tall and brawny, sun-kissed skin that probably used to be some shade of light cream, short dark hair, soft eyes that seemed to look for someone around the bar, a scar across the nose—

Keith bowed his head, staring at his pinkish-brown frappuccino intensely. No, it couldn't be. Why here of all places? How did he even know this place?

 _Please, if there's a God out there_ , Keith thought, his fingers fidgeting with his napkin, _please, hear my prayer. Please don't let him come near me—_

"Keith?" A deep voice asked.

Keith remained frozen, suspended for what felt like an eternity, until he slowly looked up to the man who spoke.

Shiro looked exactly the same as when Keith last saw him. Maybe taller. With broader shoulders. But he still had the same protective gaze, filled with what could be described as brotherly love, full of a self-induced feeling of responsibility. His face had lit up when Keith looked at him.

"Keith," he repeated, even softer than the first time.

"Shiro," Keith answered. There was a pregnant pause. Keith's gaze went back to his drink, and to his fingers. He realised that he gripped the glass so tightly his joints were white, so he tried to relax his stance.

"Can I sit down?"

As Keith failed to answer, Finn came back. His rolled back sleeves showed his thick arms, muscles rolling under his skin as he crossed his arms. He stared down at Shiro. "Is everything alright Keith?" His smile turned grim. "Or should I escort him out?"

Keith looked between Finn and Shiro. He knew Finn was serious, and that he would throw Shiro out if Keith asked. But Keith also knew that it wouldn't solve the problem, just postpone it. Well, actually, cutting short to it would probably mean never seeing Shiro again. Knowing him, Shiro would take the hint and leave him alone. But was it really what Keith wanted?

Keith realised that he had stayed silent for an awkward length of time when Finn arched his eyebrows.

"Sorry. No Finn, it's okay." Keith smiled, a little uneasy. "I know him."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

Finn glanced at Shiro one last time, nodded curtly to Keith, and walked back to the bar. Keith and Shiro locked eyes. Keith looked away again and gestured toward the seat in front of him. Shiro sat down.

"Keith," he repeated, and Keith thought that Shiro seemed to really like the sound of his name (or maybe, just maybe, Shiro tried to get used to the feeling of the now foreign name on his tongue), "it's been a while."

"Yeah. Shiro—" (But then again, Keith felt the same about Shiro's nickname.) Keith sighed. "Why are you here? I thought—"

"It's not what you think." Shiro sighed. He glimpsed at Finn and huffed a laugh. "I guess I can't ask him for a drink now, can I?"

Keith gave him a half-smile and called after Finn. "Sorry," Keith said when Finn approached their table, "could you bring him an Irish coffee? It's on me."

"Finally someone with taste," Keith heard him say when he walked back behind the bar again.

And Keith and Shiro were alone again. The tenseness was killing Keith, and whatever it was about, he wanted to start talking about it.

"So. You became a model, huh?"

Keith felt his cheeks reddening with pride rather than embarrassment.

"Yeah, I did."

"I always thought your dream was to become an astronaut, or an astrophysicist or something?" Shiro said with a rueful smile.

"I still like stars. But I guess there are some dreams one cannot achieve."

"Maybe you could have."

Keith glared at Shiro, and they fell silent again. When Finn arrived to give Shiro his own drink, checking briefly on Keith at the same time. Keith was nursing his coffee ersatz, mind deep in his contemplative haze.

Keith breathed. "Shiro, what do you want? I actually have an appointment right now—not that I'm not... happy to see you." Shiro's mouth fell agape. Keith rubbed his arm and looked away again. "I really am. I just didn't expect..."

"To see me ever again?"

"...Something like that?"

Shiro gave him a low chuckle. "You haven't changed."

Keith shrugged, a tiny grin curling his lips. "If you say so." He frowned. "But I was serious about the appointment. I am to sign a contract this morning, and—"

"That's actually why I'm here, Keith." He gestured towards an attaché case that Keith hadn't notice until then. "You're talking about the contract for the Arctic Sunrise MV, right?"

Keith eyes grew wide. "How did you know? And does Miss d'Altea know about that? Wait—are you their new manager? She didn't get fired, did she?"

Shiro stared at him as if Keith had grown a second head. After a pause, he said, in a stunned voice, "Keith... I'm Arctic Sunrise's bassist. Allura is our manager."

Keith felt himself blushed hard so he hid his face. "Oh my god. This is so embarrassing. I—I didn't know?"

Keith heard the loud booming laughter of Shiro echoing in the café. It was a rich laughter, one that had Shiro gripping his belly and doubled over, eyes watering with sheer hilarity. When Keith took away his hands from his face, Shiro's posture was exactly how he had imagined him, based on his memories. Except that Shiro was trying his best to smother his laughter.

"Typical," Shiro said at the same moment Keith said: "You're exactly how I remember you." They both smiled at each other, flustered, but suddenly more at ease in the other's presence. "It's nice to see you again, Keith. How have you been?"

"Good. It's nice to see you too, Shiro. How's the family?"

"They're good. Mom can’t help buying all the magazine issues where your photo shoots are featured. They miss you. But it's not what we're here to talk about, is it?" Shiro added when Keith seemed to start objecting, a contrite pout starting to darken his features.  "Wait, you're the one who asked to have me in the MV?"

"No," Shiro said. "I... I wouldn't have been that bold. It's Lance Diaz, our main singer, who asked for you to be in the video."

It was Keith's mouth turn to fell agape, "Lance Diaz?"

"Yeah. According to our keyboarder, he had the idea when he saw you on TV. Anyways, I thought it would be good. For the project, and for me as well. I wanted to see you again."

Keith had a hard time taking in the flow of information that Shiro was giving him. First, he truly was surprised to see that his former foster brother still cared and thought about him. Could he say former? Or even "foster"? Keith thought that it felt outrageous saying so. If he had to be honest, the Shiroganes had never felt like a foster family; they were the first to ever feel like an actual family to Keith, from the very first day. Second, Lance Diaz wanted to have him star into his MV? Freaking _Lance Esteban Diaz_! To say that Keith was flabbergasted would be an understatement.

Keith suddenly realised that he hadn't been paying attention to what Shiro had been saying.

"What?" He asked, with an expression that he guessed to be less than intelligent-looking.

"I asked you what would be the terms of the contract." Shiro repeated. But Keith's face remained hopelessly blank. Shiro chuckled, taking a sip of his coffee.

"You should have probably asked for your manager to come with you. It'd have been easier for you, don't you think?" Shiro said, his tone teasing.

Keith scowled. "I don't need him right now. And we already talked about the terms with Allura. About when and what it would be, that is. In the woods or something?"

"And not the price?"

Keith shook his head, and he could see both mirth and worry dawning in Shiro's eyes. He was probably thinking that it wasn't quite a wise way to go about a contract. And he probably was right. Scratch that. If Keith was being totally honest with himself, he knew that it had been totally stupid, coming without his manager to conclude a bargain. But Keith wasn't known in the fashion industry to be particularly easy-going, and his impulsiveness, as well as his stubbornness, had already driven away three of his former managers. Added to his reputation of being unapproachable, he usually didn't end up having a lot of interesting job opportunities.

The reason why Keith hadn't wanted his manager to come to this appointment was because he didn't want to get paid for this job. Keith sincerely loved the Arctic Sunrises; just hearing that they wanted him to take part in their work, even for a simple music video, had made him happy. And just the fact that a relatively new indie band had enough guts to ask Keith Ryu, a world-famous mannequin, to work for them, had pleased him. Keith explained that to Shiro.

"Look, I just want to work with your band," Keith continued. "Seriously. I'm a big fan. And if it allows me... If it allows us to catch up, I'll be more than happy to do it."

Shiro stared at him, index finger running over the brim of his glass. He was frowning in a thoughtful expression, but Keith could see a hint of hurt in his eyes. Keith tried his best to ignore it. Finally, Shiro closed his eyes and sighed. When he opened his eyes again, the shimmering had vanished. He opened the briefcase and spread the relevant papers before him. He uncapped a pen taken from the briefcase along with the papers and handed it to Keith.

"Let's do this."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I chose to give "d'Altea" as a family name to Allura because 1) i kind of sucks at giving names, and 2) in French (or at least in France, idk for the others french speaking countries' cultures) having a "d'" (contracted article of "de") sounds like the person is from a noble line, or is at least from bourgeoisie, and i kind of picture human Allura as a French-English woman, so it worked


	3. Cult of personality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the big day! Lance and Keith are finally going to meet :)  
> I'm so glad i was able to finish this chapter on time! anyway, you can come say hi on [tumblr](http://cityboys-modelgirls.tumblr.com/)  
> (this chapter's title is from Cult of personality by VARSITY)
> 
> still beta'd by [Sasaina_Ai](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sasaina_Ai/). thank you!

When Lance woke up that morning, the rays of the dawn’s sunlight were already invading his studio. As he sluggishly rose his arm in the air to stretch, watching his skin taking a bronze hue in the light, he mused absent-mindedly that he should have bought more opaque curtains. That way, he wouldn't be awaken at ungodly hours like that. As he put his arm down, the ray of light he had been blocking resumed its stride, and made contact with the laminated face of Keith Ryu.

"Good morning," Lance whispered contentedly to the poster. He looked at the face he had scrutinized countless times. Lance had never counted himself as one of Keith's fan; as proof, Lance only owned one poster of him. And if he had kept the magazine where he first saw Keith, it's not like anybody would be able to know, or able to judge him. He himself did not think much of it anyways.

Lance rolled to his side. Light filtering through his window caught on flecks of dust, making it look like shining snow slowly drifting down on the floor. His floor was cluttered up with clothes and half empty bags, because last night Lance couldn't be bothered packing them.

"Shit," he sighed, closing his eyes, as if hiding the view would make the hassle go away. He rubbed his eyes and wrapped himself in his quilt. He stayed that way for a long time, listening to his own breathing, eyes staring at the void formed by the darkness under his sheets. But soon, he ran out of fresh air and felt too hot. Regretfully, he forced himself to step out of bed and started getting ready for the day.

After he finished his daily morning routine composed of stretching exercises, a shower, skin exfoliation followed by a beauty mask, and finally - once the mask peeled off - application of nourishing cream, Lance finally turned his coffee maker on. Waiting for his coffee, he hummed to whatever pop song was on the radio, moving his hips in rhythm.

The coffee maker finally beeped and Lance took his mug, strolling around his apartment and picking up some of his clothing item, putting some of them on a chair which fate had decided its use would be to bear any clothes that would be already used only once, so too clean to be washed yet, and not clean enough to be put back into his closet; the others, Lance placed them on his unmade bed, gauging which ones he would put in his bags, which ones he would leave. He took a sip of his coffee, realising with a grimace that he didn't add any sugar or cream to it. He walked back to the kitchen part of his apartment and mix two spoonfuls of sugar and a spoonful of cream to the dark beverage. As Lance stirred it, his gaze fell on the poster again. Amaranthine eyes stared back at him.

"I can't believe I’m finally meeting you, Keith Ryu."

 

***

 

The Arctic Sunrises were just around fifteen minutes away from their destination. The trip had lasted eight hours. Eight long hours where Lance contemplated his life choices, mostly how oblivious he was to his own feelings and how obliviously reckless he had been. He realised these two facts after watching more than two hours of YouTube videos of Keith's interviews. He had seen how professional and well-put-together he was, how each of his movements were elegant and calculated, his words well-chosen and to the point, as if the mere act of talking was nothing but a waste of his time. Lance had watched over Keith's every move, and he was sure that everything about the young man screamed danger. Keith had the sharp gaze of a bird of prey and the grace of a panther, ready to pounce on its victim at the slightest misstep. His smile had something feral to it; more bared teeth than pale lips smiling with sympathy. He gave that smile every time he made eye contact with the camera, and to an extent, with _Lance_ , and each time Lance's mind would go blank. The only thought that crossed it was an echoed whisper.

" _He will devour you._ "

That was when Lance had realised: he was starstruck. Completely, undeniably starstruck. He had fooled himself, when he thought that owning a single poster of Keith meant nothing. That all that he felt for the guy was mere respect, from a celebrity to another. How _arrogant_. Thinking that Keith and he were playing in the same league! And Lance had asked _him_ to work with _them_ , the Arctic Sunrises.

The closer they were getting to the rendezvous point, the angstier he felt. Lance's eyes roamed around the warmly lit RV. He and Pidge were the only one awake, along with Shiro, who was currently at the wheel, Allura's sleeping form on the seat by his side. Lance sighed. His only comfort could have been Hunk, but he had passed out since the very beginning of the trip in order to avoid the inconveniences of motion sickness. Shay was curled up on a quilt on the floor, because of the same predicament. Lance couldn't really blame them.

Lance didn't want to talk to Shiro, first because Lance would probably wake Allura doing so, and she wasn't a particularly easy-going person when abruptly woke up, and also because he knew Shiro enough to know that talking about his apprehension (not to say his fear) would end up into a lengthy and elaborate sermon. Pidge was out of the question, too: they'd be too quick to make fun of him, and they'd even be likely to tattle tell to Keith _himself_. Ok, maybe Lance was being over dramatic here, but when was he not?

Lance looked over at his watch. Fifteen minutes left. He grimaced, and glanced in the direction of Hunk's soft snoring. He really needed support from his friend, right now. And after all, he would have to wake him up in fifteen minutes to step out of the car anyways. Hunk wouldn't hold any grudge for him if he depraved him of fifteen minutes of sleep? But then again, Pidge might listen in.

Lance looked at them. They were typing at their laptop, as always, chestnut-brown hair tied in a loose bun to keep their hair from falling on their face. So innocent looking, yet Lance knew better.

He sat up and turned to the large window pane. The summer landscape of Interstate 5 passed quickly before his eyes, blend of green leaves tinted gold by the summer sun overhanging a churning sea of dazzling, metal hoods.

Lance sighed and thumped his head on the window. Well. There was no going back now. And as his dear mother would put it: "as you make your bed, so you must lie on it." And with yet another overdramatic sigh, he fell back on the couch.

"We're arriving in five minutes, guys!" Shiro called from the front.

Lance sat back up. He even stood up to start pacing, clenching his hands into fist to keep himself from biting his nails. Pidge stopped in their typing to watch the shuffling of his feet. They looked up, a delicate eyebrow arched and the beginning of a snarky remark on their tongue.

"Please don't, buddy." Lance said, his index pointed at them. Pidge gave a chuckle and showed him their palms as a peace offering. After a few coming and going, Lance grabbed his hair and grunt in frustration. "Pidge, how am I even going to do this? How will I handle this? He's so–" He grunted again. Then, he glanced at Pidge to see if they had actually understood anything from his spluttering. When Pidge realized that Lance was looking at them, they looked up, a mischievous smiled on their lips, and made a gesture miming their locking their lips and throwing away the key. Lance gently kicked their shin, half a smile on his lips, "You little shit."

"And there we are!" Shiro said as the RV came to a halt. "Pidge, wake Hunk and Shay up, please." Pidge closed their laptop and stretched.

"Lance, wake Hunk and Shay up, please," they ordered as they stepped out of the car to stretch their legs before Lance could protest. They were quickly followed by Shiro and a cranky-looking Allura.

Lance sighed. He woke up Shay in no time, and Hunk woke up by himself, as if he had felt the stillness of the vehicle in his unconsciousness.

"We arrived?" Hunk mumbled, rubbing his eye.

"Yep. And if I'm not mistaken: one hour before impact."

"Impact?" Hunk blinked a few time, the mists of sleep still hovering in his mind. The three of them exited the RV.

Shay yawned. "I think he's talking about Mister Keith Ryu, Hunk."

"Oh yeah, right." Hunk said in a voice that could have been chirper, had he been more awake. "Honestly, you guys could have woke me up earlier. I'm going to yawn in front of Keith Ryu and look rude in front of him!"

Lance rolled his eyes. Now he was being told off for being considerate.

He looked around; they were parked in a clearing in the middle of a forest. He could hear the loud concert of cicadas, the light tweets of passerine birds. Shiro and Allura were discharging their luggage from the RV. Behind them, Lance could see Shiro's family’s old vacation house, big, made with white-painted wood and an ochre-tiled roof.

Lance fiddled with the hem of his jacket. He couldn't just stay there, idle: it was making him too nervous. He walked up to Shiro; at least, putting their luggage away in the house would keep his mind off his inner turmoil.

"Hunk, give me a hand."

Hunk took two of Shay luggage along with one of his while Lance took Pidge's. Shay complained with a yawn that she could carry her own stuff by herself.

“I know you’re buff and all, but look at how sleepy you are! You’re just going to trip and hurt yourself,” Hunk said. Shay nudged him. They fell into a lively banter, and finally, Hunk conceded Shay to carry one of her bags. Hunk and Lance headed towards the house, while Shay stayed behind, waiting for Allura and Pidge to gather their own belongings.

The two young men walked in silence for a few moments.

"So." Hunk said, cutting short to Lance's reflections. “Are you ready?" Lance did a double take before he understood what Hunk meant. He sighed.

"Nope. Not really. Actually, I'm freaking out, man. Why did any of you let me chose Keith Ryu of all people? Why on _Earth_  did Allura and Shiro agree to it anyway?!" He cried, wishing his arms were free so he could wave them for emphasis.

Hunk gave him a loud chortle, "Lance, you always do what you want in the end. You'd probably found a way. And see the bright side of things: now you can blame this situation on us! Everything's cool." The shadows of the tree leaves speckled his face turned upward, dark patterns clashing with smaller bright ones.

"Everything is _not_  cool, Hunk!" Lance almost screeched. When he saw that Hunk was side-eyeing him with something that looked awfully like cheekiness, he cleared his throat. "What I mean, Hunk, is that we are about to meet a celebrity. An incredibly _cool_  one, in every sense of the term."

"Well, you're cool too! In your own way."

Lance scoffed at that and playfully jabbed Hunk in his arm, "Come on, Hunk! Show a little support!"

Hunk opened the front door and entered the house, Lance on his heels. They both took a pause.

The house looked sumptuous. The front door gave way to a spacious and bright lounge dining room. On the rosewood parquet, plump looking sofa and armchairs were placed in front of a cream-stoned chimney on one side of the room, while the other side – the dining area – was composed of a large black wooden table along with six chair made of the same material. High windows framed with blue lace curtains overlooked the outskirts of the forest in front of the house, and the view below. A spiral staircase rose against the northern wall.

The two boys were still staring at the inside in awe when Shiro appeared behind them.

"Guys? Keith Ryu and his staff are going to arrive in less than forty minutes and we're not entirely settled yet! What are you doing?" Shiro exclaimed as he pushed them inside. "Put Pidge's and Shay's stuffs in the same room - second floor, first room on the right. Hunk, put yours in the first room on the left with Lance's." As he gave his orders, he took a broom in a cupboard next to the door to start swiping the floor.

"Roger that!" Lance said with a salute, heading from the living room to the stairs with the bags, Hunk on his heels.

Soon, the girls arrived, and the group ended up cleaning everything ten minutes before the planned arrival. Two early in Lance's taste, who started to get nervous again.

"Quit biting your nails, Lance." Allura said with a stern tone as she fixed a bouquet of flower on the dining area's table, flowers that Lance himself had chosen in nature's wild garden to keep his mind from wandering towards unpleasant thoughts.

Lance stopped and sighed, "I'm going to change clothes."

"Lance, relax! Your clothes are just fine." Hunk gave him a reassuring smile and a pat on the back. "You’re a singer, not a model anyways."

Lance sighed again, and Allura picked up on his anxiety. "Are you okay, Lance?"

"Peachy! Super fine!"

"Lance is nervous because he's going to meet his crush for the first time," Pidge said with a snarky grin.

"He is _not_ my crush," Lance said. But Shay was already laughing, and with an infectious laugh such as hers, soon everyone was laughing in the room. Lance rolled his eyes with resignation. He hated being the butt of the joke. He looked through the window, and caught sight of black cars arriving in the distance. "They're here!" Lance exclaimed.

The six of them walked out of the house and stood on the patio under the porch. Lance walked down the three stairs separating the wooden floor from the ground and waited. He paced on the soft soil of the clearing. Blueish, dark, and meadow green hues of foliage arched over them. The day was very bright, but as it was early in the season, the weather was still lukewarm. Lance hugged his jacket closer to himself and watched as the two black berlines park in the yard.

A moment passed before anyone stepped out of the cars. First, three tall and brawny-looking men –probably Keith Ryu's bodyguards, and then a tall, dark-haired man walked out and closed the door.

"Hello, Stephan," Lance heard Allura say. He hadn't even realised that she and the rest of the group had approached, too fixated on the cars and who might be inside.

"Hello, Allura. It is nice to see you again," Stephan, the model's manager, said as he shook her hand. He nodded at Shiro who nodded back. The three of them exchanged a few other words, but Lance wasn't listening. He didn't really care, either; there was another thing at stake.

Lance just had the time to remember the haunting look of Keith Ryu before Stephan called after Keith.

The band members all watched as the berline's door opened again. A young man stepped out of it, his black hair tangled and tousled, some of it kept away from his face by what looked like a plastic headband, wearing a black woollen sweater with a moon, a Saturn and a star on each sleeve, with white letters on the front reading "moon landing was FAKED", purple galaxy leggings and black ribbon uggs. Once out, he stretched and closed the car's door with his foot.

He was everything Lance hadn’t expected. Deep bruises sat blatantly under his eyes, face dotted with a few blemishes here and there, unobscured by copious amounts of makeup and photoshop fixtures, that Lance could only see once Keith had come closer. He was even a little wider than he was in his photos, but Lance prayed that was just the material of his jacket sitting on him awkwardly. The brunet pulled his lips into a finer line, barely tucking away his surprise as his so-called idol turned to saunter toward them.

After gazing at each of them, Keith raised his arm in a saluting gesture and with a confident gaze, subdued by his sleepy look and the dark rings under his eyes, he greeted:

"S'up."

There was a wavering moment of silence. Lance gaped at Keith, trying his best to not let his brow crease. Next to him, Pidge face split in a smile. "I like this guy," Lance heard them say under their breath. He just had the moment to snap his head at them to see Pidge vigorously shaking Keith’s hand with both of theirs.

"I'm Pidge Holt. So nice to meet you, Mister Keith."

Keith broke into a smile too, his shoulders relaxing a little as the palpable tension of the scene vanished.

"Nice to meet you too. You can call me Keith, I don't mind."

"Love the sweater, by the way!" They continued.

"Thank you," Keith smiled, a ray of sunlight brushing against his cheek as he tilted his head.

After that, Allura shook his hand, then Shay, Shiro, and Hunk did the same, all saying how glad and thankful they were for his accepting their job offer. Then it was Lance's turn. He just stood there, still not processing the situation. Ever since he stepped out of the car, not once had he stopped staring at Keith, a complete stranger.

Keith smiled hesitantly at him and seemingly unmoved by Lance's puzzlement, and extended his hand.

"Nice to meet you, Lance Diaz."

Keith's voice sent a chill down Lance's spine, and jolt him back awake. Lance finally took Keith's hand – warm and surprisingly calloused for someone who was supposedly making a living just by being beautiful and letting the whole world admiring his beauty – and shook it firmly, if not a little too solemnly.

"Likewise, Keith Ryu."

Lance cringed internally. His tone had verged on something slightly hostile without him meaning to. But thankfully, Keith hadn't seem to take up on it, unlike Allura, who discreetly, yet pointedly glared at him. Lance shifted. He dropped Keith's hand and looked away from his face. Allura turned back to Stephan and gave him a pleasant grin. "Well, shall we go inside to discuss the following weeks?"

"Certainly," Stephan nodded with a charming smile on his lips, visibly enamored with Allura's politeness. Lance was glad that Allura deterred him from his reverie when he saw the stricken look on Shiro's face. It was almost imperceptible under his mask of politeness, but Lance knew him enough to see it. He snickered.

"Let's go," Shiro said, leading the way to the house. Allura asked Stephan if the bodyguards should come inside as well, but he shook his head. "They'll be more useful outside."

Once they were in, Shiro brought two other chairs in the lounging room, and the whole group sat down at the table.

The conversation that went on afterwards was... boring, to say the least. Stephan, Shiro and Allura lead the exchange, the others rarely filling the few blanks here and there. To Lance, it was a drone; a constant, annoying buzz that filtered through one ear and out the other. Even though Lance stopped outright _staring_ at Keith, he kept glancing at him in what he thought was a subtle way. That was until he met Keith's disturbed gaze.

Time slowed down. The thick eyebrows and the dark circles under Keith's eyes brought out their deep indigo, contrasted with the cream of his skin. His lips were slightly pursed, and from where Lance sat, chapped-looking. Keith frowned, his expression almost turning into a scowl. A pointed glare, with something wild and cold to it. Lance felt his heart leap, in what he refused to acknowledge as fear, even though he couldn't see any other explanation. Lance forcefully tore his eyes away from Keith. He tried to focus on the conversation again, but he could feel a steady stare on him for the remainder of it.

An hour later, everything was sorted out: Coran, the filmmaker, would arrive on the following day. The eight of them would go location scouting around the forest for the first week, and shoot the video for two days. Then they would all go back to their respective business. Coran and his crew would take care of the editing and send them a mail once everything was finalised.

When Stephan and Keith exited the house, the sun was starting to set, setting the tree crown of the surrounding forest ablaze. Allura, Shiro, and Lance stood on the threshold, the two formers now idly chatting with Stephan. After a few more minutes, Stephan and Keith turned their backs to them. That's when Lance saw it, his eyes opening wide.

Keith Ryu had a mullet.

Keith Ryu, world-famous model, unquestioned fashion icon, had a _mullet_.

That night, sprawled on a mattress put on the floor next to the bed Hunk was sleeping in, Lance lie awake. He kept putting the day on rewind. Again, just like that morning, there was something haunting his mind. But this time it wasn't a mannequin gaze, no, but the back of sagging figure. Shapeless and loose at the top, thin yet muscled at the bottom, dug into soft looking boots.

And _God_. A _mullet_.

So _that_ was Keith Ryu?


	4. And know this day these deepened wounds don't heal so fast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone! i'm buried under homework and i'm in a middle of an exam week (again) but i reaaaally wanted to finish this chapter and post it, so there, hope you enjoy it!! :D  
> come say hi on my tumblr [cityboys-modelgirls](http://cityboys-modelgirls.tumblr.com/)  
> (this chapter's title is from C'mon C'mon by The Von Bodies)
> 
> beta'd by [Sasaina_Ai](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sasaina_Ai/) and now with roboracoon! thank you so much again! :D

When Lance opened his eyes, nothing distinguished the black behind his eyelids from the darkness of the room.

  
From the silence, Lance guessed that Hunk had woken up long before him. Lance looked at the alarm clock on the nightstand. 8:40AM. Which meant that Keith Ryu and his manager would be there in an hour. Great, Lance thought, rubbing his eyes. As his fingers grazed his skin, he realized that it had a different feel to it than it usually has. “Fuck,” Lance mumbled. He had forgotten to do his evening skin routine. He scowled. “Damn you, Keith Ryu.”

  
Lance’s feet made contact with the wooden floor of the empty and dim lit corridor. He could hear the other inhabitants of the house and the clinking of cutlery from downstairs. He made a beeline toward the bathroom and started his morning routine, still irritated about his oversight of yesterday. His grumpiness was still there when he joined the others for breakfast.

  
“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty!” Hunk called from behind the stove. “What will it be? Chef Hunk can cook you anything, _sur le pouce_ ,” he said in his best French accent, waggling his eyebrows in a mockingly seductive way. That managed to cheer Lance up a little, especially as a swell of pride warmed his chest. Hunk was nervous most often than not, and he suffered from an acute lack of confidence, but never when it came to cooking. Every time Lance watched him cook, as he diced fruits and vegetables into thin pieces, as he chopped chunks of meat apart, as he whipped cream and sautéed caramelized chicken, it was as if he could feel Hunk’s passionate aura swallowing any self-doubt he might have. So Lance smiled, and sat on one of the chair across Pidge and next to Shay, both of them already eating what seemed to be Hunk’s star breakfast meal.

  
“I’ll take the same as them, Hunk.”

  
“And one cheese omelette à la mode!” Hunk exclaimed, pouring the whipped eggs and grated cheese mix into the frying pan, already sizzling with caramelizing onions.

  
“You seem quiet today, Lance,” Shay whispered softly to him, her head slightly bowed to the side in a silent “are you okay?”

 

He nodded. He knew that he should have replied with something funny, or at least remotely flirtatious, but he really wasn’t feeling talkative that morning. In consequence, Shay’s brow creased with worry. Lance smiled to himself. With how shy Shay was, he often forgot how sensitive she was to others and their well-being. But right now, he didn’t want to have her inquiring yet tender scrutiny boring into his skull. To deter Shay’s attention from him, Lance turned to Pidge – who had remained unmoved by everything that had been happening around them so far – and asked:

  
“You’re already on your laptop? It’s not even 9AM yet!”

  
“Quarter past nine, actually.” They answered distractedly, their eyes still on their laptop screen, their fingers flying over the keyboard.  
“What are you doing anyways?” Lance’s question was met with only silence on the other’s end. “Hello? Pidge?” he called, mild irritation tinting his voice.

  
Pidge’s head snapped up getting out of their trance. They gave a sheepish half-grin to Lance, an unusual look on their face.

  
“I was asking about what you were doing on your laptop. You’ve had your nose stuck on it ever since yesterday.” Lance tried for a teasing voice, but he wasn’t sure it had worked. He wasn’t really at his peak. Pidge seemed to notice it, but didn’t comment on it.

  
“I’m coding a video game,” they replied, eyes darting back to the screen.

  
“Really,” Lance deadpanned. He didn’t mean to sound rude, but it sounded a little cliché.

  
“Yeah, really.” Pidge repeated as they turned most of their attention back to their programming. “It’s a 2D RPG. Wanna try?”

  
Lance arched his eyebrow, puzzled, but agreed to test it nonetheless. But really, how did Pidge find the time to _code a game_? But at least, the old school looking game kept his mind from troubled thoughts for a time. As he played, Pidge explained that they composed the sound tracks, while Shay had designed the characters. When the demo ended, Lance gave Pidge their laptop back.

  
“Yeah, it’s nice,” he said. Hunk served his plate and settled himself next to Pidge, an enormous plate placed in front of him. “Where are Allura and Shiro?” Lance asked.

  
Hunk shrugged. “They went downtown. They’re probably coming back soon.”

  
“But let’s talk about important matters,” Pidge cut in. “So, Lance, Keith Ryu? What did you think of him?”

  
Lance took a mouthful of omelette and mulled Pidge’s question over. What did he think of him? It was hard to say, because he honestly didn’t know. There was such a stark contrast between the model from the poster and the man that they met the day before that it was really hard to say. Lance frowned. Actually, he felt _cheated_. He thought about the laminated poster hanging on his bedroom wall. He thought about the bust half enveloped in a red fabric, a bare shoulder adorned only with the tattoo of a signature traced in black ink. He thought of silk-like black hair, and he thought of purple-grey eyes framed with scarlet glasses. Lance wrinkled his nose. The only thing that didn’t betray him seemed to be those eyes. _That_ he hadn’t been lied to about.

  
“Lance?” Hunk called softly.

  
Lance snapped out of his own head. He must have zoned out for a while, because Pidge, Shay and Hunk were all staring at him curiously, and Lance didn’t miss the worried glance Hunk and Shay had shared.

  
Lance finally swallowed the mouthful he didn’t realized he had stopped chewing and repressed a sigh. He didn’t like being all mopey like that; it wasn’t like him. He plastered on a would-be sly smile on his face:

  
“Have you seen his mullet?”

  
“ _What_?!” Hunk exclaimed as Pidge chortled, grabbing their sides. “He had a _mullet_?”

  
“Really?” Shay said, delighted for a reason Lance couldn’t really place.

  
“How come I didn’t notice it?” Pidge wondered, her laughter barely subduing.

  
The conversation drifted towards the other’s impression of Keith, and Lance was blessedly left alone for the rest of breakfast. Abstractedly listening to his friends, Lance picked around his plate. He had lost his appetite.

  
The sound of tires rolling on gravel wafted to Lance’s ears. Soon after, keys unlocked the front door and Allura and Shiro came in, arms filled with food stock for the week. They barely had the time to put everything away before now familiar black cars parked in the front yard.  
“They’re here!” Allura said excitedly, clapping her hands together. “We’ll finally be able to get to work.”

  
Allura rushed to the door before anyone had even the time to knock. With a smile, she welcomed Keith and Stephan, who were just stepping on the threshold.

  
While Pidge, Hunk and Shay stood to greet the newcomers, Lance remained on his seat, observing the commotion from afar. Allura, like a good host, asked if Stephan or Keith wanted to eat or drink something before they all went on their morning activity. Keith eyed the leftover omelette and bacon in Lance’s plate.

  
“Well, it’s kind of you,” Keith said, “and it does look tasty.” Stephan shot him a pointed look that made Keith roll his eyes. He gave a polite smile to Allura. “But I have a special diet. You know, I’m a model and all.”

  
Lance snorted. He had thought it was soft enough to go unheard, but if Keith’s glare was anything to go by, it wasn’t. Thankfully, he seemed to be the only one who had noticed, and didn’t snap back.

  
“Coran should arrive soon.” As Shiro uttered his sentence, someone knocked on the door.

  
“Speak of the devil,” Allura said, already at the door. The door barely opened, and a tall man entered the room.

  
“Allura, my darling!” he exclaimed as he saw her.

  
“Hello, Coran,” Allura returned the hug, her head in the crook of his neck.

  
Lance smiled. He always forgot how close these two were: Coran was like Allura’s adopted father. Which reminded Lance…

  
“Ugh.” He took out his phone and turned it on. He had completely forgotten about calling his mother, and he had also forgotten to tell her the _precise_ location of the house. The screen finally unlocked, and displayed that he had five new messages and two missed calls. Lance cringed. He texted her quickly, indifferent to the buzzing noise of the group chatting in the background. She immediately answered, fussing about how irresponsible it was of him, leaving her without saying where he was and if he had arrived. They could have had an accident, and she would have learned about that on the evening news! Anyways, had he slept well? How was Hunk? And the others? And so on, and so on. Lance fondly smiled down at his screen and answered her. He was still texting her about the wonderful panorama that surrounded the house when a shadow towered above him.

  
“Excuse me, Hunk. I’m texting my Mom,” Lance mumbled with a shooing gesture.

  
“Tell her hi from me,” said a voice that was definitely not Hunk’s.

  
Lance jumped so hard he almost felt his soul leaving his body. “Keith?”

  
Keith ignored Lance’s surprise. “So. Momma’s boy, aren’t we?” Lance tried his best to not let his face twist into a scowl.  
“And proud to be,” he simply answered. He wanted to go back to texting his mother, but that would have been rude. His mother certainly didn’t raise him like that. “Um, so.” Yeesh. It sure was awkward.

  
“Are you ignoring me?” Keith said bluntly.

  
Lance sputtered. He could only be glad he hadn’t been drinking at that moment. “Um… no?” But Keith narrowed his eyes, obviously not convinced. “Sorry, we huh. We just don’t know each other that well yet?” And now Lance was lying through his teeth. Anyone who knew him would know that he actually had no trouble engaging conversations with strangers, or at the very least making them comfortable. But Keith Ryu didn’t have to know that.

  
Lance lifted his gaze from his plate and crossed Keith’s inquiring one. Intense, as always. Something heavy and bubbly swirled in the pit of Lance’s stomach. He took a bite of omelette, in the hope that sweet and savory taste would make the uneasy feeling disappear.  
The minty breath of Keith’s sigh brushed Lance’s face as he sat in front of him.

  
“Can I have some?” Keith muttered, glancing at something from the corner of his eyes. Lance followed his gaze to see Stephan eyes crinkled with a smile, chatting with Allura and Shiro. He said something, ending his sentence with the glimpse of a wink. Allura laughed, one of her delicate nail-polished hands on her chest, head tilted back and shaking from left to right. Shiro rolled his eyes, arms crossed, but a light smile tugging at his lips. Pidge, Hunk, Shay, and Coran were nowhere to be found. Lance narrowed his eyes.

  
Something quickly moved at the bottom of Lance’s vision field. Keith had just picked a piece of his omelette from his plate. A low hum cut Lance’s protest short. Keith eyes fluttered close for less than a second, dark lashes ghosting over white skin, dusted pink without any makeup.

  
“It’s really good,” he muttered in awe, staring at Lance’s plate. It made Lance smile on Hunk’s behalf.

  
“Hunk made it,” exclaimed Pidge from behind Lance, who jumped up.

  
“Do you really have to creep around like that?” Lance said. Pidge ignored him.

  
“Well, you’ll tell him it’s really good.”

  
Pidge sat down next to Lance, facing Keith. They leaned forward. "So." Pidge said. "We didn't really have time to speak yesterday."

  
"Indeed," Keith replied with an easy smile.

  
"So," Pidge repeated, "do you really think that moon landing was faked?"

  
Lance saw something igniting in Keith's gaze. Lance merely had the time to frown in confusion before he heard a suddenly contrite-looking Stephan whispering "Here we go again" from the other side of the room, and before Keith started a rant, agitating the fork in his hand to convey his excitement:

  
"Yes, I do,” he said with absolute conviction. “Everything about that expedition sounds phony to me. I mean, it's kind of obvious, don't you think? It happened during the Cold War, and the USA and the USSR both tried to outdo each other. There was a space race, and the Russians were ahead of us. Seeing them on the moon before us would have been a huge defeat, and we would have looked bad in front of the whole world, and we obviously couldn’t have that. So that’s why Apollo 9 mission was born. And I mean, actual proof of a moon landing, in such high quality? Yeah, right. Seems kind of sketchy to me. Especially back at that time.”

  
A huge smile crept on Pidge’s face, their eyes sparkling. “I like you,” they chirped. “I’ve always thought it was sketchy, too.”

  
Keith smiled back. “Glad to see I’m around sensible people here,” he said absent-mindedly as he picked at another piece of omelette.

  
“Keith!” Stephen called. The metal fork fell on the porcelain plate with a clatter. Keith glared at Stephan, who glared back. “You know you can’t eat that.” Keith looked away and scoffed, standing up.

  
“Shall we get going?” He said with an apparent serenity, averted by his stomping to the front door, ready to open it.

  
“We have to wait for the filmmaker, Keith,” Stephan called him back.

  
“Coran Smythe,” Allura supplied.

  
“Yes,” Stephan thanked her. “Coran Smythe.”

  
“He was here two minutes ago,” Keith deadpanned, his hand still clasped on the door knob.

  
“He’s putting his material in the garage with Hunk and Shay.” Shiro said. “We’ll be on our way as soon as they’re finished.”

  
Lance watched as Keith stared at Shiro a second too long, and said: “I’ll wait outside then,” before finally opening the door and stepping out of the house.

 

* * *

  
Keith sat on the house’s old swing seat, bouncing his leg, the wood of the patio creaking at his every move. The sun had risen hours ago, already joyfully glaring at the surface of the Earth and its inhabitants. The upper part of Keith’s body was shaded by the porch while his legging-clad legs bathed in the warmth of the daylight.

  
He was staring ahead, unfocused. He wished for his mind to go blank, but the quiet never came. He glanced to his right. He could walk to the garage, see how well the tidying was going. But…

  
Keith looked back ahead. It was bad enough that everything about this house screamed familiarity and welcoming domesticity to him. Everywhere he looked, fading images of hot summer days, sun blazing high in the sky, hardening the earth and burning the few grass blades in the front yard came into view: two kids with sun-kissed skin running around, chasing and spraying water at each other, seemingly a little too old to do so.

  
A small smile appeared on Keith face, a rueful curl of his lips, sitting there for mere seconds. He breathed in, he breathed out, the smell of sunbaked dirt invading his nose. He wished that all the memories assaulting his thoughts would go away. But their bittersweetness was clouding his mind.

  
Keith opened his eyes. He was back on the old grating glider of the vacation house. The morning sun was low in the sky. The yard was empty.  
Keith mind wandered back to Lance. His behaviour has seemed unsettling to Keith, if not aloof. Wasn’t he the one who had requested Keith to come work with them? Maybe… What if Lance was disappointed?

  
Keith ran his hand through his hair, put it back in his lap, his fingers fiddling with each other, with his ring. He stared down to his feet. Ahead the gravel scrunched under the step of Coran, Hunk and Shay coming back to the house.

  
“Mister Ryu, you’re already outside!” Coran exclaimed. “Ah, eager to go and walk in the lush nature?” He punctuated his sentence with a swing of his arm. Keith smiled at the man, endowed with cheerfulness and an energy rarely found in people his age. Although Keith had to admit, Coran Smythe would not look his age, if it weren’t for the discreet wrinkles in the corner of his eyes and circling his mouth. Keith wondered how old Coran _really_ was.

  
“Huh. Yeah.” Keith answered, distrait.

  
“Let’s get on our way then, shall we?” said Coran, already entering the house. Hunk followed suite, addressing a smile to Keith. Shay stopped in her track to look at Keith. After a short scrutiny, her eyebrows knitted together, and she tilted her head, her brown hair skimming her shoulders.

  
“Mister Ryu, are you okay?”

  
Keith jittered under her gaze. He sat up, his shoulders slightly less slumped in this new posture. “Keith, please.”

  
Shay blinked, flustered. “Oh sorry, sir—I mean. Keith.”

  
Keith felt a pang in his chest. He felt even more inadequate, seeing the brown-haired girl fidgeting before him. With just a few words, he had managed to make her uncomfortable. Keith smiled at Shay, sheepish. “I’m okay. Thank you for asking.”

  
Shay looked instantly relieved. “I’m glad to hear so,” she said with great enthusiasm. Keith’s smile grew, more sincere now.

  
At that moment, Lance stepped out of the house. Keith and Shay both looked at Lance, as if caught red-handed doing _something_ – Keith had no idea what, and Lance stared back between them. Finally, his gaze settled on Keith, insistent. Keith frowned at him. In answer, Lance looked away.

  
“Lance, what are you doing in the doorway?” Coran asked, not stopping in his track, even as he looked at each of the youngsters. “Come, the forest awaits us.”

  
Keith arched an eyebrow at the peculiar choice of words, but no one else seemed to make a big deal out of it. Soon, everyone was out of the house and following Coran into the forest. Lance walked past Keith without looking back, and Keith and Shay were the only one remaining on the porch. Shay gave him a sympathetic smile. “Let’s go.”

  
They caught up to the others before they had actually, entered the forest. Stephan had been waiting behind, his arms crossed. Shay excused herself and kept on walking to the rest of the group, leaving Keith under the pointed yet weary stare of Stephan.

  
“What?” Keith half-snapped when Stephan didn’t start speaking after five seconds. Stephan didn’t answer at first, sighing with an even more unimpressed stare, looking down at him the way he would look at a petulant child. Keith bristled.

  
“Keith,” Stephan said, his eyes cold, his voice void of understanding. “I don’t know what came over you earlier, but I want you to _behave_. Is that clear?”

  
Keith clenched his fists, but repressed the sigh forming in his chest. There was no use talking back. Anything he could say would sound like a childish excuses to Stephan’s ears. And deep down, Keith knew that it would just be excuses.

  
Keith looked beyond Stephan, watching as the band, their manager and the filmmaker came to a halt, looking back when they realized neither Keith nor Stephan had caught up. Inquiring gazes laid upon them. Keith shifted. The last thing he wanted was to make a scene. He looked back to Stephan. For now, Keith could bite the bullet.

  
“I’ll behave.”

  
Stephan nodded and walked toward the others, Keith following suite.

  
“So. What were your ideas, Mr. Smythe?” Stephan asked, ignoring the puzzle stares he was given, and as Coran’s enthusiasm lit up again, the awkwardness dissipated.

  
“Well, see,” Coran started as they finally entered the green mass of the woods, “I had a vision. Colours mingling together. Red and blue. Water. Fire!” He was caressing his mustache in a remote fashion, but his sparkling eyes betrayed his passion.

  
Allura lifted her eyes from the map she was holding, musing his words over. “Hm. A simple theme, made interesting by the lovers’ interactions, isn’t it? A scene on a lake bank and another by a campfire, perhaps.”

  
“Well, Allura, great minds think alike,” Coran exclaimed, beaming at her. Allura smiled back at him. Coran went on. “I thought about it. The music videos with the simplest visuals are quite often the one that people tends to recall the most.”

  
“Less is more, huh?” Keith heard Lance say. The brunet seemed disconnected from his surroundings, as if what he saw ahead wasn’t lines after lines of all sort of trees, from maritime pines to cypress, but the materialisation of his very thoughts.

  
They walked along the natural paths of the forest, coming to a halt whenever they found a particularly interesting spot and Allura would mark it down on her map. A small clearing shadowed by the heavy foliage of the crooked trees, the sand and pebbles bank of a lake, a path bordered with sharp boulder rocks.

  
The sun had been rising slowly in the sky, and despite the shadow that the tree leaves offered, the heat still scorched their skins. Keith had already taken off his sweater and tied it around his hips. They were all sweating and panting when Hunk exclaimed:

  
“Okay, snack time, guys!”

  
They were happy and relieved cries verging on growls, the weariness of the walk getting to everyone.

  
“Should we go back?” Pidge asked.

  
“Well, I actually brought some snacks,” Hunk said, holding out his heavy looking bag.

  
“Some snacks?” Shay asked, fanning Allura and herself with a plastic Japanese fan. They both had styled their hair into messy buns.

  
“And a table cloth too.”

  
“What a great idea, Hunk! We could all have lunch in the magnificent scenery of nature. The outdoor air do wonders to the human mind.” Coran said, eager. Keith stared at him from the gnarly tree root he was sitting on. _Is he always speaking like that?_ He thought. Keith wiped his sweaty brow. Coran probably did: no one apart from Stephan and Keith seemed to pick it up.

  
“We walked past a small clearing half an hour ago. Perhaps we could have lunch there.”

  
Pidge scowled. “I hate the outdoors,” they said under their breath.

  
Keith chuckled at that. Pidge looked at him and arched an eyebrow, a mischievous smile on their lips. “I won’t be mocked by someone who probably sees less sun than me.”

  
Keith scoffed. “I love the outdoors. I just don’t tan much.”

  
Pidge rolled their eyes. They extended their hand and helped Keith getting on his feet, then linked their arms together, leaning on him as the whole group walked back to the aforementioned clearing. It wasn’t really comfortable, as Pidge’s body was a little heavy – probably less than Keith was used to lift, but still – and quite hot. Keith could barely stand his own body heat coupled with the hot weather. But he didn’t say anything about it, because Pidge was telling him about some theory about Area 51 they had come up with, an eager expression on their face. So Keith smiled back and they mused about whatever might be hidden in that enigmatic area.

  
“I mean, it’s so clever, you know,” Pidge said. “Alien rumors. Especially with the fake,” air quotes at “fake”, “photos of aliens. In my opinion, the army took these photos—“

  
“Or made them up.” Keith cut in.

  
“Hmm. I don’t know about that. I mean, maybe?”

  
“I think they made them up, or at the very least altered them, and anonymously spread them to the public. So when the photo were debunked, everyone thought that it was a hoax, which would automatically discredit anyone who thought that Area 51 had anything to do about aliens.”  
“Hum. Sounds clever enough.”

  
“Oh my god, seriously?” Lance cut from behind them.

  
Keith looked at Lance. “What?”

  
“You think that aliens are real too?” Lance asked. His t-shirt, damped with sweat, clung at his torso. Keith looked back to his face.

  
“Because you really think that they do not exist?” Lance rolled his eyes, and Keith frowned. “Lance,” he exclaimed, “the universe is almost infinite, and always expanding! There are billions of galaxy out there! And you really think that we’re alone?”

  
Lance stared at him, face unreadable. Keith felt his skin pricking under Lance’s gaze. He rubbed his arm. He had goose bumps despite the scorching temperature.

  
“I mean, this is just inconceivable,” he added, looking away.

  
The weight of Pidge’s body lightened on his side as they straightened themselves. “Don’t listen to him,” they said in fake-whisper that would definitely be heard by Lance, “he’s a close-minded idiot. If it doesn’t have anything to do with girls, he’s not interested.” Keith forced a smile.

  
“Hey!” Lance protested, as Hunk and Shay laughed ahead. “Hunk, how can you laugh at that? Fight for my honour, man!”

  
“Yeah right, no.” Hunk said in-between fits of laughter. “Can’t defend what’s not defendable.”

  
“You’ve been hanging out with my mom a little too much,” Lance said sulkily.

  
“Okay, children,” said Allura with her kindergarten teacher’s voice. “We reached our destination!”

  
Hunk settled the red checked tablecloth on the soft grass, and everyone sat down for lunch, the bag of food at the center. Tupperwares of cold pasta salad and fruits were shared, along with bottles of water and packs of juice. Pidge and Shay sat next to Keith, Shay asking him questions about his career and the country he had visited. Keith answered politely, sipping on his orange juice, and nibbling at his apple from time to time. He could feel Stephan stare’s from the other side of the tablecloth, so Keith didn’t dare eyed at any of the display of enticing food. He mentally rolled his eyes. Stephan was way too strict. It’s not like eating this salad, with its shiny dwarf tomatoes, its penne rigate al dente, its creamy mustard and herbes de Provence sauce, its grated cheese… Ok. Maybe it _was_ a little too caloric for him. Keith stared as Lance took a bite of it. _How cruel_ , he thought, chewing on his own apple. He didn’t really care much, anyways. What he ate at breakfast would probably sustain him for a while still. But he missed eating something for the sheer taste of it, without caring about how many pounds he would gain because of it.

  
The rest of lunch passed as everyone chatted amongst each other, the Arctic Sunrises easily including Stephan and Keith into their conversations. The chatting went on even when they all had finished eating, something Keith wasn’t used to anymore.

  
An hour later, they resumed their walking in the woods, and went on well until late in the afternoon. On their way back, they walked by the first place they had marked down the map, as Coran wanted to observe how the different lighting would affect the atmosphere and the appearance of the different scenes. He snapped photos of those just as he did on the way there. By the time they reached back to the old vacation house, it was early evening.

  
“Do you have enough shots, Coran?” Allura asked.

  
Coran was holding his camera, flipping through the photos he had taken. “I’m not sure. I should have taken more photos of the little lake we saw over there. And I might have to take photos of Keith and Lance in those panoramas.”

  
Lance crossed his arms. “Tomorrow? Already?”

  
“It won’t be the start of the shooting, Lance, but that way I’ll see if the aesthetics of the views matches when put all together and with you brought to the fore.”

  
Keith put his sweater on. “Sounds good to me,” he said, shrugging. He glanced at Lance who was already staring at him. Again. Seriously, what was up with that?

  
“Yeah, alright.” Lance looked at Coran. “Let’s do this.”

  
“Stephan, you’re not going to go now! Won’t you have dinner with us?” Allura asked, with a smile that seemed less polite than sincere. Stephan smiled back in the same fashion.

  
“That’s kind of you, but Keith and I are going back to the hotel. We wouldn’t want to impose ourselves.”

  
“Stephan, I’m _inviting_ you! Come inside,” she said as she nodded at Shiro to open the door.

  
Keith rubbed his arm, wary.

  
“Hey, mullet. You’re coming?” Lance asked.

  
“Mullet?” Keith frowned, absent-mindedly touching his hair at the nape of his neck. But Lance had already turned his back before he could say anything. Keith rolled his eyes and entered the house. It still had that faint fragrance of cooked rice, jasmine tea and pumpkin candles that smelled very good but nothing like pumpkin at all. Of course, it was underlying the light smell of humidity due to long period without ventilating, but it didn’t matter. Keith remembered how much he liked the fact that the vacation house smelled like their home back in the suburbs.

  
Shiro and Hunk were already slaving over the stove. Lance was half chatting half flirting with Allura, and Keith couldn’t tell if Allura was more annoyed or amused.

  
“Keith,” Stephan said as he walked to him.

  
“Yeah?” Keith answered, cautious.

  
“They’re cooking beef and rice. You can eat some. But not too much.” Stephan insisted on the last phrase.

  
Keith nodded. He walked past Stephan and toward Shiro and took the knife he was holding. “Can I help with anything?” Keith asked, holding Shiro’s stare.

  
Shiro glanced at the small stack of bell pepper he had started cutting, and back at Keith before smiling. “You can cut the rest of bell peppers, and start peeling the tomatoes. Take the apron next to the hand towel.”

  
Keith nods and grabbed the puce apron hung on the wall. Keith stared at the cloth, its cotton fabric a little rough to the touch. _Mom’s apron_ , Keith mind supplied unhelpfully. Keith put it on and started his work in order to keep his mind from wandering off. He filled a pot with water and put in on the stove, and let the water slowly heat up to reach boiling point. In the meantime, Keith chopped the bell peppers in fine slices, and put it on the side when he finished, just when the water started simmering. “Shiro, I’m done with the bell pepper,” he said as he turned off the stove and dived the tomatoes and put them in the kitchen sink one by one.

  
“Ok, thanks.” Shiro answered as he took the bell pepper and put them in a pan, along with onion slices and a swipe of butter. “Could you take the chorizo and crème fraiche out of the fridge, please?”

  
“On it!” Keith was on autopilot. He opened the fridge: the crème fraiche was on its door and the chorizo in the bottom row, as always. He gave them to Shiro and asked: “Do you want me to start washing the rice?”

  
“That’d be great, thanks. You know you—” Shiro stopped himself. He started again, more quietly, a small smile on his lips. “You know you cook rice better than me.”

  
Keith puffed and started peeling the forlorn tomatoes in the sink. When he was done, he cut them in dice and put the small stack in the pan. Then, he took care of the washing of the rice. Shiro and he stood in companionable silence, and Keith hadn’t felt this comfortable in a long time. It all stopped when he put the rice in the micro-wave.

  
“What the _hell_ are you doing?” Lance’s voice boomed across the room.

  
Keith stopped in his tracks. “…Cooking rice?”

  
Lance put his hands on his hips. “In the micro-wave?” he gaped at Keith.

 

“Huh…”

  
“Where were you raised? In a barn? Are you a savage?”

  
“Lance!” Allura scolded, her eyes flashing fire at Lance.

  
“Allura, I’m sorry, but there are some thing in this world than I can’t excuse. And cooking rice in the micro-wave is one of them!”

  
In no time, he was in the kitchen. He took the glass bowl out of Keith’s hands, their fingers brushing for a mere second. “I can’t believe you were going to do that.”

  
Keith rolled his eyes at Lance’s scandalized expression. “How else do you want to do it?”

  
“Huh, in a pan? Like a civilized human?”

  
“Cooking rice in a micro-wave is easier."

  
"Yeah, because you don't know how to cook."

  
"No, because I know how to cut myself some slack. What's the use of cooking rice in a pan if with the micro-wave technique there are literally zero ways of messing it up?"

  
"Guys, seriously," Shiro interrupted. "It's just rice."

 

"Just rice?!" Lance turned to Hunk. "Hunk say something."

  
Hunk shrugged, barely hiding a grin. "I don't know man. I use both techniques. Depends on the time I have and how busy I am, I guess."

  
Lance settled the glass bowl on the kitchen counter and put his hand on his chest in an exaggeratedly shocked expression. " _Et tu, Brute?_ "

  
Keith chuckled, his hand covering his mouth. Lance looked back at him and arched an eyebrow. "Do you even know how to cook rice in a pan?"

  
"I always burn it."

  
"Amateur," Lance half-sneered as Keith rolled his eyes.

  
"You could teach me," he said.

  
"Hm." Lance mused. "You know, cooking rice in a pan is part of the great knowledge of the finest ancestral rice cooking techniques—"

  
"Never mind," Keith said as he took the rice to put it back in the micro-wave.

  
"But I guess I could," Lance said as he took back the bowl. "I mean, how cool would it be to brag about how I taught the great Keith Ryu how to cook rice?"

  
Keith felt his blood rush to his cheeks. "Why did I even ask..." he mumbled, though he attentively watched as Lance grabbed a deep pan with a cover and poured the rice and salted water of the bowl in it before covering it. Lance turned on the stove.

  
"And _voilà_! Now we have to wait for the water to boil."

  
"That's it?" Keith asked, perplexed.

  
Lance hummed. "Well I guess we have to watch over it, in case the water boils over," he said as he kept an eye on the pan. Keith leaned on the kitchen counter in front of Lance and next to Hunk.

  
"Well Keith, Shiro and you make a good team! It was like watching a kitchen show. You guys really were in sync here!"

  
"Oh, huh..." Keith stuttered, flushing. "Thanks? Although I'm not sure about the synchronization part." Keith didn't dare look at Shiro. What if Keith had gave them away? Shiro probably didn't want anyone to know that he was hiw brother. Keith himself certainly _didn't_ : the situation was already awkward enough as it was.

  
"I... I had a brother, when I was younger?"

  
Keith quickly glanced at Shiro: his face was unreadable. Keith looked back at Hunk and swallowed.

  
"No way!" Hunk exclaimed, then frowned: "Wait, what do you mean, ' _had_ a brother'?"

  
"We—I, huh. It's just that we don't see each other anymore."

  
"Oh..." Hunk said. He gently patted Keith's shoulder. "That's tough, man."

  
"Huh-huh." Keith mumbled. "Anyways," he started, forcing a smile on his face. What are you cooking?"

  
Hunk's face lit upas he explained the steps of the making of chocolate conflake cakes. Keith could feel Shiro's stare in his back. Keith willed himself to ignore it.

  
When he was done, Hunk put the dessert in the fridge, Lance called Keith so he could see how flawless and perfectly cooked his rice was, to which Keith rolled his eyes.

  
"It's just rice, Lance." Lance gave him a cheeky grin and turned off the stove.

  
It felt weird, Keith thought as he idly gazed at Lance setting the table, to get along with these people so fast. It also felt weird to banter with a complete stranger, and still be comfortable doing it.

  
"Hey mullet, you're coming or what?" Lance called.

  
Keith frowned. Scratch that. That guy was annoying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah, i wish i had posted at least one chapter in february, but i just finished it *sigh* anyways, it was tons of fun to write! :D  
> the micro-wave versus pan rice debate there is a reference to an actual debate i often have with a friend of mine lmao  
> also apparently crème fraîche is not that wildy spread in the US? *the more you know*


	5. I ask this guy is he ready to fight and I take him to the park

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas and happy holidays everyone! :D
> 
> I'm really sorry with how long it took me to write (and publish) this chapter, really. When I had the inspiration I didn't have the time (school, entry exams, all that) and when i had the time, i simply did not have the motivation or inspiration... But like i said in a comment, i'm not planning on leaving this story unfinished! I'm currently trying to write far ahead, so that the story doesn't have too long hiatuses. because of that, i cannot give you an exact releasing schedule, sorry!
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter! :D
> 
> The title is from "All Over" by CRUISR
> 
> As always, beta'd by [Rhys](https://windywordz.tumblr.com/) and roboracoon as always! thank you again :D

The night before had been… _delightful_ , in Allura’s words. And well, Lance couldn’t really disagree, it _had_ been fun. Dinner had been good, the rice excellent (thanks to Lance rescuing it, obviously), and everyone seemed to get along with Keith and his manager quite well. Everyone except for Lance, that is. Not that he hadn’t tried, obviously. But there was something about the guy that just… unsettled him. Lance had somewhat gotten over the shock of the expectations vs reality effect, but still.

 

No, it was something else.

 

Sometimes, it was the way Keith gestured, or the way he spoke–oh, take that, for example. The guy was a nerd. A huge one, too. Nerdy enough to get along with Pidge _and_ keep up with their crazy conspiracy ideas, which was what most of their conversations were about, all eyes narrowed in suspicious puzzlement and sly knowing smiles.

 

But Keith’s fashion sense too reflected his nerdiness: so far, he had only worn one outfit, but one composed of galaxy yoga pants, uggs (seriously, people still wore those?) and a “the moon landing was faked” sweater. And to think that Keith actually believed what it said. Between that and the fact that he was wearing a sweater in _summer_ , Lance didn’t know which was more aggravating.

 

With all of that, Keith was an oddball, a mystery shrouded in eeriness, and despite all of his observations, Lance couldn’t precisely pinpoint why. After all, he seemed to be the only one having this problem. The only thing Lance was certain of was that whenever he riled Keith up, Keith would give him that annoyed, cold and poisonous stare, and thanks to it, Lance’s palms would stop sweating for a while. That situation was ridiculous. Not that Lance would tell anyone.

 

“Lance, do you have a problem with Keith?” Hunk asked in the darkness of the room.

 

Lance rolled his eyes to himself, “I don’t see what you’re talking about, Hunk. See? _This_ is why we don’t stay up late. You become delusional after a certain hour of the night.”

 

As an answer, Lance’s face was smacked with a pillow.

 

“Ow, jeez! Okay, no need to use violence.”

 

“Oh come on, I barely touched your face. I’ve seen your siblings do _way_ worse than that and for less than not answering a question. So?”

 

“I’m still mulling over his mullet.”

 

Hunk snorted, “God, _Lance_.”

 

“Man, it feels like we’re having a sleepover.”

 

“Like back in the days?” Lance could imagine a smile sneaking on his friend’s face.

 

“Yeah,” Lance said. “When you would keep on bothering me with questions about my current crush or whatever.”

 

“Hey, I’m like a love guru, alright? There’s a reason I was called ‘the Matchmaker’!” Hunk paused for a second, and Lance heard the bristling/rustling of the bed sheets, “Wait a minute,” Hunk said, his voice now closer Lance’s face. “Are you trying to tell me that you have a crush on _Keith Ryu_?!”

 

“ _What?_ ” Lance exclaimed in a tone way too loud for that hour of the night, sitting up.

 

“ _Shhh_! Lance, you’re gonna wake up the household!”

 

“What do you mean, _crush_?” Lance scream-whispered to Hunk, his hand clenched over his racing heart. “Why would you say that? Me? _Keith_?!”

 

“Hey, you’re the one who started talking about crushes out of nowhere!” Hunk retorted in the same tone.

 

“It was an _example_ , Hunk! I don’t have a crush on him, what the hell.”

 

“Are you sure? Because you looked like a Kindergartener who is trying to catch the attention of their crush by bullying them.”

 

“ _Bullying_ , yeah, right.”

 

“You’re not denying the facts. I’m no Freud, but I might be onto something here.” By the tone of his voice, Lance knew Hunk was arching an eyebrow.

 

“No, you might not.” Lance scratched his nose. “I’m not denying anything because what you’re implying is too ridiculous to be worth a defense. Sure, Keith Ryu is… _aesthetically pleasing_ , but so are a lot of people out there. And I don’t have a crush on them. I’m not like Shay, you know? Falling in love with a new person every day.”

 

“She’s not like that.”

 

“She is, though. That’s kind of part of her charm. Do _you_ have a crush on Shay?”

 

“Good night, Lance.”

 

Lance chuckled. He patted Hunk on what he guessed to be his shoulder. He didn’t want to stop chatting.

 

“Hey, I’m just giving you a taste of your own medicine, you know?”

 

Hunk gave him a low hum.

 

 “Yeah, okay, awkward subject. Let’s get back to Keith I guess.” Lance paused, deep in thought as he drummed his fingers on Hunk’s mattress. “It’s just. Don’t you think he’s… weird?”

 

“Aren’t we all?” Hunk muttered, a touch of sleep now slurring his voice where wryness should have been. “Also, that’s impolite, Lance.”

 

Lance rolled his eyes at these words. “I mean. I don’t know. It’s—a _feeling_ I’m getting, alright?”

 

“You sound like your mom,” Hunk commented. And more seriously: “like a _bad_ feeling?”

 

Lance shook his head and, realizing how useless the gesture was in the pitch darkness, said: “No. I don’t know how to explain it. I just got a hunch…” He combed a hand through the strands of his already disheveled hair and leaned his head on Hunk’s pillow. “It’s stupid,” he said. “I guess it’s probably nothing.” If clammy hands, a roiling pit in the stomach, and thrills running down his spine every time Keith did so much as look at him could be qualified as ”nothing”.

 

“Didn’t you have a hunch about Veronica too? Maybe he _is_ a bad person.”

 

Hunk’s words echoed in the empty darkness of the room, their ominous nature ricocheting against the walls. A pause followed them. Lance sighed as he thought about his past relationship. With Veronica, that infamous hunch had translated to an increasing numbness as well as a decreasing endearment to everything she did in a span of two weeks. It had been a fast, clear-cut fall, and neither of them seemed to have acknowledged it at the time, too engrossed in their make-believe, their chimera of a relationship; and for some reason Lance still couldn’t fathom, they had been going out for _months_. Which had been quite a regrettable waste of time. But with Keith… something seemed to have clicked right away. Lance didn’t know what, and he certainly didn’t know in what kind of way or why it did, but it did.

 

Lance heard Hunk pat the free space of his mattress. Hunk had probably worried about the stretching silence on Lance’s end. Lance climbed on it, the warmth of the soft bed rubbing against his skin, and stared in the general direction of the ceiling as he felt Hunk’s gaze upon him.

 

“Care to explain what this… _feeling_ is?” Hunk said in his soft-toned voice.

 

Lance blew a frustrated breath, rubbing his face. “I checked his Wikipedia page.”

 

“Again?” Hunk muttered as he tried to muffle a chortle.

 

“Hunk, this is no laughing matter,” Lance scolded. “Anyways. He was a good student, good enough to get a scholarship to study astrophysics, at least. Apparently, he had always wanted to become an astronaut.”

 

“Huh-huh.”

 

“What _happened_?” Lance guessed that he might have sounded strangely distressed, but his mind, foggy with sleepiness, couldn’t care less.

 

“Uh. Life happened, I guess. Why do you worry about it so much?”

 

Lance crossed his arms and glared, the fire of his gaze adding to the heat of the room. He felt hot. After a moment, Lance sighed and deflated. Because of his misplaced jealousy, he thought. He said so to Hunk.

 

“Hm… So you’re jealous because he had an occasion to study space, something you’ve always wanted but never could, and because he just gave up on it? For a reason, might I had, you know nothing about?”

 

“… It sounds a little ridiculous when you say it aloud.”

 

“A little?”

 

Lance ignored him. “But I guess, yeah, partly.” He _was_ jealous of it, but it seemed a little too far-fetched to be the reason of the hunch.

 

“Do you think that makes me a bad person? I mean, it’s not even his fault and I’m taking out my failure on him… It’s not his fault I’m such a disappointment,” Lance sighed again.

 

Sometimes, he wondered how his parents and his friends still supported him, and even more, still _stand him_. To Lance, it seemed that everything he tried was due to fail. Yes, all the decisions he took were simply failures waiting to happen. Even their music band almost disbanded at some point because of Veronica, _his_ ex-girlfriend. Lance couldn’t help but imagine her as some kind of manic banshee, screeching and crying constantly, only leaving quarrels and despair in her path. But he was the one who was with her at the time, and thus, he was the one who offered the cursed spindle to the band’s finger.

 

Lance’s eyes prickled with newborn tears. He rubbed them. It seemed to be around that time of the night when the heart softened, the soul burnt with the will to express all the feeling it felt, and when the tongues got loose. A time when most would wallow in their own misery, just as Lance was doing. All the negativity he always buried under smiles, jokes and more self-deprecation broke through the surface, and it was as if a dam had broken, and all that he was keeping at bay, in his subconscious, was now flowing into his conscious mind.

 

Hunk must have felt something shift in the atmosphere, as he embraced Lance, his heavy arms like an anchor to Lance’s drifting mind. Lance listened to the steady heartbeat that echoed through Hunk’s chest.

 

“Lance, you’re not a failure, okay?” Hunk hushed. “This band was _your_ idea, wasn’t it? And look, next month we’re going for a world tour, and just now we’re working on a MV for our latest album which sold nine million copies, like you said. How is that a failure?”

 

Lance buried his face in his chest. “Well,” he said, his voice muffled against the fabric of Hunk’s t-shirt, “the boat is kept afloat by Shiro and Allura anyways, it would have probably sunk long ago if I was still the captain,” Lance laughed bitterly. He would have been amazed by the impromptu lyricism of his words if his sadness wasn’t clawing at his heart. Hunk hugged Lance tighter.

 

“Lance…” he muttered. Hunk sounded pained and at loss. Lance felt even guiltier.

 

“I’m sorry,” came Lance’s muffled apology.

 

“Lance, you don’t have to apologize, okay? There’s nothing to apologize for.” Lance could feel the hum of Hunk’s words in his chest, as he rubbed his back soothingly.

 

Lance sniffed and willed the knot in his throat to go away. Try as he might, he barely managed to pace his quickening breath. He could already feel his fingers numbing, the feeling spreading to his other limbs. The rumbling of the words and the hotness of Hunk’s furnace of a body coupled with the heat of the room suffocated him. He pushed Hunk away and sat up. The numbing felt now more like a white noise running through his arms and legs, unfortunately not numbed enough to prevent him from the pain of the sudden contraction of his muscles.

 

“Lance, you okay?”

 

Lance shook his head. He stepped off the bed and stumbled to the window to open it. The air outside was fresher than the air inside, and Lance was thankful for it. He breathed deeply.

 

After a few moments, Lance felt Hunk’s hand on his shoulder.

 

“Lance?”

 

“Sorry.”

 

Hunk sighed. “Don’t. Don’t be.”

 

Now Lance felt even worse. Hunk gave him a glass of water. Lance arched his eyebrows as he took it. “When did you…?”

 

“While you were breathing,” Hunk answered as he leaned over the window frame. “Shouldn’t you take your medicine?”

 

Lance scowled and took a sip. “No, thank you. I’m fine now, anyways.”

 

Hunk gave him a side stare, but said nothing.

 

“Does your mother know you still…?”

 

“No, I didn’t tell Mami. I don’t want to worry her.”

 

“Don’t you think she’ll be even more worried if she learns that you hid _that_ from her?”

 

Lance glanced at Hunk, and let his gaze go back to the starry dark sky. He could still feel his heart beating sporadically against his ribcage, and the sound of his rushing blood buzzed in his ears at the same time as the cicada’s concert down below. “It’s not like anyone would tell her, is it?”

 

Hunk pursed his lips but said nothing. “Just so you know, I do _not_ approve.”

 

“I know, Hunk.”

 

The cold rim of his glass rested on his lips. Lance gripped it tightly; his hands were still shaking.

 

“It’s late,” Hunk muttered. “You think you’ll be able to go back to sleep?”

 

Lance sighed. “Not right now.”

 

Hunk stepped away from the window and stretched his arms. “I’m gonna warm some milk and honey for you, alright? I’ll be right back.”

 

“Hunk, you don’t have to.”

 

“Huh, yes, actually I have to, because first of all we need to get up early tomorrow. Well, today,” he corrected after a quick assessment of the alarm clock. “And second of all, because I have a duty.”

 

“A duty?” Lance repeated as he watched Hunk’s distinct shape move around the room, by the sound of it taking a plaid blanket from his bed. Hunk put it on his shoulders, and nodded in the darkness.

 

“Your mother is very convincing.”

 

“God, Hunk—”

 

“Before you say anything, _no_. It’s not the only reason. Man, for how long have we been friends? You should know me by now. I’m doing it for you, not just because you mother told me so.”

 

Lance stared at his best friend. Little by little, he could feel his fingers again. They were steadying themselves around the glass, now lukewarm. The ghost of his previous condition dissipated, already a forlorn memory.

 

Lance sighed. As he kept on focusing on breathing from his belly, he put the glass on the window sill and his head in his now crossed arms.

 

The wind blew into his curls. The ink of the sky, a blue so dark it seemed black, was dotted with specks of light that formed starry clusters of the constellations shining much like the eyes of a certain mannequin. Lance frowned. His fingers twitched, his nails digging small crescents into the flesh of his arms. He shut his eyes and gritted his teeth. He didn’t want to think about _him_ , or anything about that had to do with him. Hunk was right. Why should he care? It’s not like it mattered anyways. What was important was to shoot this MV. What Lance thought of Keith wasn’t important. At _all_. Still. Wouldn’t it be better if they got along? Yeah, but Keith was so…

 

“Lance?” came the worried voice of Hunk.

 

Lance startled slightly. Hunk was giving him a porcelain mug. In his other hand was a pink tablet. Lance eyed it, glanced at Hunk, and only took the cup.

 

“I’m feeling better now, Hunk. Thank you anyways.”

 

Hunk arched an eyebrow and looked. Lance followed his line of sight which reached the set of fingers still clenched around his arms. Lance released his grip and extended his hand to grab the pill. He put it in his mouth, before drinking a mouthful of sweetened milk. His eyes widened.

 

“Is this strawberry milk?”

 

Hunk gave him a sleepy yet playful smile. “You bet it is!”

 

“I can’t believe we’ve got strawberry Nesquik here,” said Lance. Then, frowning: “Why do we even _have_ strawberry Nesquik? Did you check the expiry date? Is it still edible?”

 

Hunk rolled his eyes, but his smile never left his lips. “Yes, you can drink it, no problem. As for the _why_ , well, you’ve got Shiro to thank for that. He knows how much you crave it, and how much it comforts you.”

 

Lance inhaled the familiar scent, one that reminisced childhood memories, siblings fights and motherly hugs. “Ah,” he sighed, silently thanking Shiro, “such a good big brother.”

 

“Wait—if he’s your big brother, what am I?” Hunk wondered, a finger tapping on his bottom lip.

 

“Uh, my twin? I thought it was clear enough?” Lance chuckled. “Don’t worry, you get to be the favorite twin, though.”

 

“Aww, Lance…” Hunk murmured; but at that moment, neither them knew what emotion lied beneath the cooing: fondness or sadness. But both of them knew enough not to address the matter, and so nothing was further said for a few instants, the mood contemplative, if not a bit gloomy. Thankfully, Hunk chimed in, clearing the weird atmosphere.

 

“Well, you’d be the favorite twin if you didn’t worry Shiro so much. I mean, look at him! That’s why he got all that white hair.”

 

Lance huffed. “Oh, come on. I’m pretty sure he already had white hair when we met him.” He chuckled again. “Thanks, Hunk,” he said after some time.

 

Hunk shrugged. “It’s nothing, buddy.” Waiting for Lance to finish his beverage, he leaned on the window rail, wrapping himself more tightly in his plaid blanket, just like the silence wrapped itself around them, suddenly heavy like the summer heat. Lance was thankful for the silence that nature had to offer during this season; none of the cold stillness of winter, but just the silence of nature, the ruffling of the leaves, the song of the cicadas.

 

Lance’s eyes were drooping. Warm strawberry milk and a blanket on his shoulders always did that to him.

 

“Are you going to be alright?” Hunk asked quietly. Lance’s eyes fluttered shut. He wasn’t sure what Hunk was talking about anymore. “I’ll be fine,” Lance answered, and he didn’t know what he was talking about either. When he opened his eyes again, Hunk was staring at him, his face turning into an unreadable expression. None of them moved for an instant. Lance had his fingers twitching again. Hunk’s stare, rather than staying locked on an invisible spot, seemed to have followed the point and the pale face of his friend.

 

Lance’s lips parted, a question on their edge, but before anything could be uttered, Hunk looked away.

 

“Let’s sleep, Lance,” he said, as he walked to his bed.

 

Lance glanced at the sky once more, took his glass off the window ledge, and followed suit.

 

***

 

The whole scene felt like déjà vu. Which was quite logical, as they were still the same group of people walking around the same forest under the same scorching sun as the day before. But Lance could still notice some differences. For instance, strings of fluffy white clouds striped the blue sky, providing some shade, a timely break to those walking under them. Also, Keith had changed his outfit. This time, he had a simple white t-shirt, but his shoulders were clad with a tacky old-school jacket, and the legs of his high-waisted jeans sank into beat-up white red and black Nike Air Force 1 – in other words, Keith looked like someone straight from the 90’s. He even had colour-graduated aviator sunglasses perched on his head.

 

But what mainly changed from the day before, was the fact that Keith and Lance were sitting close, leaning toward each other, Lance’s hand sitting uncomfortably on Keith’s waist. They were almost facing each other, and Lance could feel the gentle blow of Keith’s breathing brushing against his face, but none of them were looking at the other. _He’s a mouth-breather_ , was all that Lance could think. He was staring at the worn shoes. Those shoes that he never thought he would see again. He used to have the very same pair, with the same colour scheme, but he passed them down to his younger brother when he grew up, and then, his father had thrown them away, claiming that they were too worn out to be worn. Lance’s father wasn’t a sentimentalist.

 

“Lance, could you lean down a bit more, please?” Coran asked in his business voice.

 

Lance did as he was told, his mind on autopilot. A shutter sound echoed.

 

The air was not only hot, but also humid, filled with forest scents and sounds, and another smell, more of a perfume, one that Lance was sure had been marketed as “Asian Lost Paradise” or something in that range instead of simply being named by the fragrance composing its scent, something along the lines of “Citrus and Cherry Blossom”. And to add to that someone else’s breath…

 

Coran hummed. It was a slightly unsatisfied hum.

 

 “Maybe if Keith completely leant on Lance’s shoulder?” Allura wondered out loud.

 

“Or Lance’s chest,” Pidge supplied with a misleadingly innocent face.

 

Coran didn’t seem to catch on the underlying mocking tone. “Oh, that _is_ a good idea, Pidge!” Then, turning to Keith. “If you will.”

 

“I—Yes, of course,” Keith said, and leant on Lance’s chest, but not too much, so that he wasn’t too heavy. Now, the forest scent was submerged in a citrusy and flowery smell.

 

Lance glanced at the mop of black hair in his face, and the carefully blank face that came with it. The mop moved as Keith adjusted his body to be more comfortable, and it tickled Lance’s nose. He quickly turned away to sneeze.

 

Keith looked up and their eyes locked. “Bless you,” he said.

 

Lance blinked. “Thank you,” he said, feeling like an idiot for some reason. But at these words, a little smile lit up Keith’s face, and Lance’s heart fluttered in his chest. His eyes widened. Another panic attack? He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He felt Keith moving next to him.

 

“Hey, are you alright?” he muttered. Lance nodded but kept his eyes closed still.

 

“Breathe.”

 

In his surprise, Lance’s eyes flickered open, suddenly peering into Keith’s eyes, anthracite grey melting into indigo, strangely warm despite their colour. Yet, Lance’s stomach coiled.

 

He took a deep breath, inhaling that fragrance again—“What’s your perfume?”

 

“Huh?” Keith tilted his head and frowned.

 

Lance winced inwardly. Why would he go and ask that? But Keith had probably heard anyway. So he repeated, a little sheepish: “Hum. Your perfume?”

 

“Oh,” Keith blinked. He looked up, a sign that he was actually thinking about it. “Hum, I think it was something like… “Paradise Flowers” I think?”

 

Lance couldn’t help letting out a soft chuckle at that. Keith tilted his head, arched and eyebrow. They were even closer now, Lance thought.

 

“What’s funny?” Keith asked, a soft whisper. A chill down Lance’s spine. He sat up quickly.

 

“Hum. Nothing,” he mumbled just as Coran said: “That pose was great too! You two are naturals, aren’t you?”

 

“You have no idea,” Lance thought, scratching the back of his neck with a small fake grin.

 

“Well, let’s move on to the next point, shall we?” Coran went on, pointing towards another point in the forest.

 

At these words, the group got in movement toward the point Coran had indicated.

 

"Are you sure you're okay, Lance?" Keith asked.

 

Lance waved at him, his eyes trained on the ochre ground. "Peachy." Then, not to sound too dry, he looked up, staring at a point above Keith's shoulders, "Don't mind me."

 

From his peripheral view, he could see a slight frown forming on the model's face, but Keith didn't say anything. He threw one last glance at Lance and followed the others deeper into the forest.

 

"Lance, are you really okay?" Hunk asked.

 

"Yeah. Just. The heat, you know? Doesn't help with the whole breathing thing."

 

Hunk hummed, nonplussed.

 

"Especially with my... you know," Lance added for more verisimilitude. When Hunk arched his eyebrow, he finished: "my condition."

 

It seemed to work, as Hunk took on a more concerned face.

Lance shrugged. “Like I said, it’s okay. I’m used to it and all?” He pointed his thumb toward where the others had gone. “They’re probably waiting for us. We should get going.”

 

Lance walked as he said so, not wanting to have to look at Hunk’s expression.

 

They reached the group in a few steps. Keith risked a glance at them from above his shoulder, arching his eyebrow expectantly, a silent “are you okay?”, which unsettled Lance. Something recoiled in his stomach. And as every time when Lance was at loss of what to do, his mind blank from any thoughts, he did the first thing that came up to him. Like a second nature, a defense system, he winked at Keith, half a grin already forming on his lips before he could stop himself. Keith’s eyes went wide at the same time as Lance’s did. Yet, whereas Lance’s stayed wide, Keith squinted his gaze and after a mere seconds of glaring, he snapped his head forward.

 

Lance stayed mortified minutes after Keith had turned, trying to keep himself from face palming and grunting in his cringe. Still, he was reassured by the fact that luckily enough, no one had seemed to catch on this awkward exchange.

 

“There!” Coran exclaimed, pointing at another setting he had marked down on the map Allura was holding.

 

“What a lovely place,” the latter exclaimed. “And the lightning looks right too, doesn’t it Coran?”

 

Coran nodded as he gestured to Lance and Keith to come forward. Reluctant steps guided Lance toward a wary Keith. Neither of them made any comment when Coran guided them to a foothill and placed them in the way he wanted.

 

They stood aside, at least one meter apart, rigid and tense. Shiro and Allura glanced at each other, puzzled. Shiro shrugged, and Allura stared at Lance with a cocked eyebrow, expectant. Beside her, Coran was frowning, stroking his mustache in a thoughtful manner.

 

“No, no, that won’t do boys,” he said, oblivious to the tension built between the two young men. “Maybe move a bit closer to one another.”

 

Keith sighed and did as he was told, letting his arm touch Lance’s. “Might as well be the professional one here,” Keith mumbled as he pressed his side further in Lance’s chest.

 

Lance barely refrained from scowling.

 

“Oh, you’re acting all high and mighty now?” Lance whispered, irritation showing through his tone.

 

“Keith, please turn toward Lance!” Coran said from the top of the hill. “Yes, like that! Perhaps… Hm. Could you put your hand on his shoulder?”

 

“I’m not the one blowing hot and cold, at least,” Keith retorted, his fingers grazing Lance’s shoulder. He caught Lance’s gaze and said with the same sotto-voce before glancing away: “I’m _not_ one of your girls, Diaz.”

 

Lance gritted his teeth, staring ahead. Keith kept on executing Coran and Allura’s instructions, his body coming closer to Lance’s and his other hand on top of Lance’s hip, yet Lance barely registered any of the movements as they were made, only their results, feeling extra warmth where Keith touched him. And this stupid fragrance…

 

Lance closed his eyes and leaned into Keith’s hair. There’s _no way_ that _he_ would be seen as the unprofessional one.

 

The rest of the day went by, strained and seemingly endless, according to Lance. When they weren’t throwing some snarky comments at each other (discreetly, while striking a pose and when no one could hear them) Keith would simply avoid catching his gaze, when he wasn’t the one glaring in his direction.

 

Lance couldn’t shake the ugly feeling creeping up his spine and clinging at his guts whenever Keith’s words came back to his mind. _I’m not one of your girls, Diaz._ What did that even mean anyways? So what if he was a ladies man? It wasn’t like he had chosen to be, he had just been born with natural charm.

 

(It sounded strange, now, thinking that way: so confident, and absolutely, completely serious. Well, just like his older sister had always say: “fake it ‘till you make it” really _was_ the way to go.)

 

Honestly, Lance had no idea how the others managed not to pick up on the situation. That’s what he had thought until Shiro cornered him after diner, well after the departure of Coran, the model and his manager. The others were all outside on the patio, chatting idly as they sipped on their tea (hot for Allura and Shay, cold for Hunk and Pidge) while Shiro and Lance were on dish-washing duty.

 

“Wait, can you do the dishes, with your…” Lance had trailed off, gesturing at Shiro’s prosthetic.

 

Allura had rolled her eyes, throwing her teabag in the trash. “Of course he can, it’s waterproof. Shiro can do his share of chores, so don’t let him get away with it.”

 

“So, is everything alright?”

 

“Hum?” Lance blinked at him. He had been lost in his thoughts. “Oh, huh yeah. Fine. Why are you asking?”

 

Shiro soaped two glasses before answering.

 

“You seemed tense this afternoon.”

 

“Oh, hum—” Quick, think of an excuse. “Well. I’m not _that_ used to having strangers all up my personal space, you know.”

 

Shiro snorted, and said, probably more to himself than to Lance: “Yeah, _you’re_ more used to getting into people’s personal spaces. Also, I’ve never seen you have that kind of problem with girls before.”

 

There it was again, whatever _it_ was. Lance scowled, scrubbing at a plate too furiously. “What’s up with that again,” he mumbled. “Sorry if I like girls, alright.”

 

Shiro stopped in his movement, arched his eyebrows. “Again? What do you mean?”

 

Lance waved vaguely, sending froth on the sink’s rim. “Yeah, but never mind.” He sighed. “I just.” He paused, then blurted: “I guess Keith is not what I expected.”

 

This time, Shiro frowned. “Lance, I’m not sure I’m following.”

 

Lance sighed again. “Honestly, I don’t even know, Shiro. I—" Lance stopped himself when he realized that Shiro stared at him with some kind of... _wariness_ in his gaze. "Weird," thought Lance. Yeah, weird to see Shiro with that expression, especially turned toward _him_ , and unusual enough to stop Lance in his train of thoughts. Shiro's defensive reaction made Lance bristle a little, negative emotions flowing into his veins. He gritted his teeth to keep them at bay, a dam keeping bitter-tasting water from overflowing. Seriously. Why did everyone seem to be on Keith's side? They all only met him a few days ago, and it seemed that the guy had managed to get everyone on his side.

 

Lance scowled inwardly, and shook his head, his gaze affixed on the foamy water, his whole body now focused on his task. "No, you know what? Never mind--really," he added when Shiro opened his mouth to utter what would have certainly been a protest. "I'm probably being dramatic again," Lance said as he rinsed the last plate.

 

Shiro frowned again, wariness vanishing, replaced with a puzzled-looking expression. "Lance—”

 

"I'm exhausted! I’m going to bed. Tell the other I said good night," Lance exclaimed, already reaching the staircase before the band's bassist could stop him. Once he had reached his and Hunk’s common bedroom, Lance closed the wooden door behind him, leaned on it and took a deep breath. He barely walked (more accurately, stumbled) toward his bed and let himself fall on the floor mattress. Suddenly he felt as exhausted as he had claimed to be seconds prior, and his eyelids grew heavy with the dust of sleep.

 

Bursts of laughter from outside drifted into the room, along with the loud singing of the cicadas and of the wilderness itself, as like each night, wafting to Lance’s ears like mere echoes of a dream. The last coherent thoughts that Lance had muddled with them, melting with negative thoughts, feelings of solitude.


End file.
